Oh, lovely
by Annamia
Summary: Being the account of Sasori's freshman year of high school. And yes, it does in include Deidara. What did you expect?
1. First Impressions

_Author's note: hello and welcome to this story! okay, so that was cheesy. what can i say, it's one in the morning and my hyper friends are playing boggle next to me. (this is after the food fight and perverted youtube vids... don't ask). anyway, this was written sort of on request by thesepeopleareus and sort of 'cause i wanted to do one of these anyway. so it's an AU high school Akatsuki fic. enjoy!  
Disclaimer: no dear, i'm not the creator of naruto? did you think i was? that's why it's called _fanfiction_, you know! lol.  
--kyra_

* * *

First impressions

Sasori stepped into the high school for the first time, scanning the crowd of people for any of his friends. He spotted Kisame's trademark navy blue hair straight away and made for the tattooed boy. Kisame grinned when he saw the redhead.

"Hey! How was your summer?"

Sasori shrugged noncommittally. "I spent it hiding from my grandmother."

"Again? What did she do to you?"

Sasori shrugged again. "She wants me to perform with her. I keep telling her that I have no talent with making little kids laugh, even if they don't see me, but she won't believe it."

Kisame snorted. "Oh, you coward. Afraid of being laughed at by five year old brats?"

"Watch it," Sasori warned. "I'm not afraid. I'm just not interested. Where's Itachi?"

"You're changing the subject."

"However did you guess, genius? I am indeed. I also haven't seen your black-haired friend all summer and want to make sure he hasn't killed anyone lately."

Kisame grimaced. "It was a near thing," he muttered.

"Who?"

"Who else? Sasuke."

Sasori snorted. "Does killing brats count as killing people?"

"The police think so."

They both whirled to find the subject of their conversation standing behind them. He'd come up without a sound, as was his custom, and now stood, arms crossed, looking at them.

Kisame grinned widely. "Itachi! How've you been?"

Itachi shrugged slightly. "I've been good," he informed the taller boy. "I haven't even gravely injured anyone in months."

Sasori, watching the pair, wondered yet again what their relationship was. Kisame managed to get whole sentences from Itachi while everyone else, including teachers, had to be content with monosyllables. Itachi, on his part, was the only one able to reign in Kisame's exceedingly short temper. No one knew if they were dating or not, though no one would be surprised. They themselves only shrugged off questions, answering that it wasn't anyone else's business. Well, Kisame did. Itachi just glowered until whoever it was decided they didn't really want to know and remembered some pressing business elsewhere.

"Have you seen any of the others yet?" Sasori asked, distracting Kisame.

"Zetsu," Kisame replied. "He should be around here somewhere. Konan and Pein are probably somewhere, but I didn't try to find them."

As if on cue, a pale boy wearing copious amounts of black makeup sidled up to them, nodding at the group. He received a blink from Itachi, who treated everyone but Kisame to the same greeting. Kisame got a whole nod. Kisame and Sasori greeted Zetsu, getting soft replies. Zetsu spoke more than Itachi, but his volume was so low that he might as well not be saying anything at all.

"Anyone seen Hidan or Kakuzu?" Sasori asked, looking around for the remaining members of their group.

Kisame snorted. "Knowing them, Hidan's still off scaring the middle schoolers and Kakuzu's trying to figure out the best way of robbing the school's account."

Sasori had to admit that this was a fairly accurate portrayal of their friends.

"Or Hidan's looking for girls," Zetsu pointed out, shifting his weight slightly and adjusting the hood of the green hoody he never took off.

"Already?" Sasori asked skeptically. "We haven't even been here a full fifteen minutes yet."

Itachi glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Sasori shrugged. "I suppose," he agreed.

"It _is_ Hidan," Kisame pointed out.

Before they had a chance to discuss the matter farther, the bell rang, informing them that they had all of four minutes to get to class. Why the passing period couldn't be a round five minutes, Sasori didn't know, but that was the way it was.

He pulled out his schedule. History. Wonderful. He loathed history. It was all about people who were dead, and dead people meant nothing to Sasori. The very fact that they were dead meant that they'd done their bit and now deserved to be forgotten.

Unfortunately, none of the others had class with him. Itachi and Kisame had biology together, which left Kisame grinning, though whether it was because he had class with Itachi or because he liked biology, Sasori didn't know. Zetsu apparently had English, something he claimed to enjoy. That left Sasori alone heading glumly off to a subject he hated.

The classroom was fairly full when Sasori got there, and he slipped into the only empty seat he could find, beside a blond… actually, was it a boy or a girl? Sasori couldn't tell. He settled for the ever-ambiguous "it." It seemed to be playing with a piece of white clay, folding it and refolding it idly. Sasori couldn't help watching its fingers as they played: clearly whoever it was knew its way around clay.

It seemed to sense Sasori's gaze, because it looked up, meeting the redhead's impassive eyes.

"I'm Deidara, yeah," it… he offered. Yes, definitely male.

"Sasori."

"You like sculpting?"

Sasori shrugged. "Not really. I'm more into models."

"Models? Like cars and stuff, yeah?"

Sasori wondered why he did that. Did he _have_ to end every sentence with that word? It got old very fast. He shook his head. "No. Puppets."

Deidara's eyes lit up with interest. "Oh yeah? That's cool. You consider yourself an artist?"

Sasori shrugged. "I guess." He'd never really thought about it that way, but, now that he did, he decided he was. There wasn't really anything else to call what he did.

At that moment, the teacher walked in, and they shut up. Sasori examined the woman, wondering if she would be even remotely interesting. His experience with teachers in general, and especially history ones, was that they weren't.

She looked around at them, her eyes landing on Deidara and his clay.

"What is your name?"

"Deidara."

"Please put that away during my class. This isn't art."

Deidara scowled, but did as she bid, stashing the lump in a pouch he produced from his pocket. Sasori noticed the lips tattooed into his palms as he did so and wondered how much that had hurt. Then again, it couldn't have hurt anymore than the gills Kisame had had put in last summer. He shook his head slightly. People had the oddest tastes.

The teacher, a Mrs. Cummings, began droning on about classroom rules. Sasori tuned out. He didn't feel like wasting his first day listening to this kind of thing. Glancing up to make sure that she wasn't watching him, he pulled out a sketchpad and began doodling a new idea he'd had: puppets shaped to look like his parents. After all, if he couldn't have them in real life due to the stupid car accident, then he could at least have models, right?

He was shading in his mother's hair when Deidara whistled softly. "Wow, you're good, yeah."

Sasori grimaced slightly. _Enough_ with the 'yeah'! He shrugged. "Drawing isn't my strong point. I work better in 3-D."

Deidara grinned slightly. "Me too, yeah. I can't draw on paper at all."

Sasori turned back to his sketch, trying to decide how he would improve them. After all, it wasn't much fun making puppets _exactly_ like the real thing, right? He'd just decided on giving his mother a retractable dagger and his father a sword when the bell rang again, signaling the end of the class. He tucked his sketchpad away and stood, pulling out his schedule to see what class he had next. Art. His face brightened slightly. At least he would have something to look forward to during history.

"What'd you have next?" Deidara asked, walking out with him.

"Art."

"Hey, me too, yeah! Cool!"

Sasori didn't respond, threading his way through the crowd of people down the stairs and to the art room. Deidara stayed by his side, chattering about art and fire. A lot about fire. What was he, some kind of pyromaniac?

They arrived at the classroom, only to find the way blocked by a boy and a girl, both older, arguing with each other. Sasori sighed. At it _already_? They hadn't seen each other for more than a couple hours, surely!

"You know, some of us want to get in too," he commented dryly.

Pein glanced away from Konan, his angry expression fading into one of surprise as he saw Sasori and Deidara. "You have art too?"

"Obviously," Konan cut in before Sasori could reply. "Otherwise he wouldn't have asked to get in."

Pein scowled. "I wasn't asking _you_," he snapped, whirling to face his blue-haired counterpart. "I was _asking_ Sasori."

Sasori grimaced and stepped between them. "Save it for lunch," he advised. "Or you'll make us think that you don't like each other after all."

"We _don't_," they replied at the same time. They glared at each other over his head. He snorted.

"Keep telling yourselves that," he agreed cynically. "Are you going to let us in or not?"

Konan stepped back, letting Sasori and Deidara into the classroom. Behind him, Sasori heard them start up again. He grimaced.

Deidara glanced back at them. "They really do hate each other, don't they?"

Sasori snorted. "Them? They've been going steady since 7th grade."

"Wow…"

Sasori stepped away from the bickering couple and towards the center of the room, looking around. It appeared to be stocked with the usual assortment of things: paints, brushes, paper, pencils, charcoal, crayons… everything a basic classroom needed. Deidara deserted Sasori for a kiln in one corner, which he looked at reverently. Sasori grimaced. He didn't know if he liked Deidara yet, but there was no denying that the other boy had more than enough energy. Heck, he could even rival Tobi for hyperness. Sasori's grimace deepened at the thought of Tobi. Thank _God_ the boy was still in middle school. Let _him_ deal with Sasuke and his followers all alone. Sasori certainly wasn't bailing him out yet again.

The rest of the class filtered in, and Sasori was relieved to see Hidan walking through the door, albeit only seconds before the bell rang again. He strolled over to where Sasori sat, dropping down next to him.

"How you doing? Any decent shit happen while I was away?"

Sasori shrugged. "Not really. How many people did you sacrifice?"

Hidan's answering grin was all the answer Sasori needed.

"Never mind. I don't want to know after all."

Hidan leaned back, balancing expertly on the chair's back legs. "You need models for your puppet-things?"

"No. Thanks for the offer, though."

"No problem."

The art teacher rushed in then, his graying hair windblown and his shirt flapping untucked as he walked. Sasori glanced up then away. The man might have something to teach him, but he doubted it. The only person who could even attempt to rival his skill at puppetry was his grandmother, and she wasn't here.

"Everyone settle down." This was directed especially to Konan and Pein, who were still shouting at each other.

"They'll never shut the fuck up, will they?"

Sasori shrugged. "You know what they say about married couples."

Hidan guffawed. "Don't tell _them_ that," he warned.

"I have _some_ sense of self preservation," Sasori informed his friend wryly. "_I'm_ not the suicidal one here."

"I'm not suicidal," Hidan snapped. "It's ritual self-mutilation."

Sasori snorted. "Sure it is."

"Shut the fuck up."

The teacher turned his eyes towards them, frowning. "If I could have you attention?"

Neither Sasori nor Hidan said anything. Deidara reluctantly left the kiln and went to sit next to Sasori, glancing at Hidan.

"Thank you. I'm Mr. Smith."

Sasori tuned out again. It was probably the same lecture he'd failed to listen to last hour. He pulled his sketchpad out again, flipping to a fresh page and sketching out what it would look like if one of his puppets disemboweled Tobi. Hidan, catching sight of the drawing, snickered.

"That's not nice," Deidara commented under his breath, turning to see what Hidan was snickering at.

Sasori shrugged. "The brat deserves it."

"You mean that's a real person?"

"Unfortunately."

"What's with the orange face?"

"It's a mask. He thinks it's cool."

Hidan snorted. "That's 'cause he's a Goddam idiot."

Sasori nodded and continued drawing. With a crookedly ironic smile, he added in a speech bubble, reading, "Tobi's a good boy, right? Tell Tobi he's a good boy, Sasori!"

Mr. Smith turned towards them, his arms crossed. "Would you boys care to share the joke?" he asked.

Sasori shrugged and handed the teacher his sketch. It didn't really matter. Mr. Smith handed it back after a moment, his face disapproving.

"Please refrain from drawing while I'm talking," he said stiffly.

Sasori nodded, flipping the sketchpad closed and stashing it back in his bag again. Pein glanced at him questioningly. Sasori shook his head. No point getting it out again.

Mr. Smith babbled on until the bell rang, promising them as they left that they'd get to do some real art next class. Deidara grinned at that, obviously looking forward to it. Sasori noticed that he had his clay out again.

* * *

The next class, math, passed quickly enough, and Sasori soon found himself waiting in the lunch line, looking for something only mildly repellant, instead of overwhelmingly repulsive. It wasn't easy. Finally, he settled for salad, paid for it, and headed into the cafeteria to find the others. Kisame, spotting him first, waved him over to their table.

"Hey! How'd the morning go?"

Sasori shrugged. "About as well as could be expected."

Pein looked up, his eyes curious. "What were you drawing in class earlier?" he demanded.

Sasori pulled out his sketchpad and flipped it to the right page before handing it to the older boy. Pein glanced at it, then burst out laughing. "Oh that's good," he gasped. "Man, that's completely priceless!"

"Let us see!" Kisame, of course. Pein handed over the sketchpad, and it got passed around amid gales of laughter. Only Konan, the last to see it, remained silent, though her eyes twinkled with repressed mirth. She slowly flipped through the rest of the book, pausing to examine certain images. Sasori, knowing what was in that sketchpad, winced. Sure enough, she lifted her eyebrows, glancing over to meet his eyes. He knew he would have to deal with her questions later, but he didn't want to do it in front of witnesses. He shook his head slightly and reclaimed his sketchpad, flipping it closed and stuffing it back into his bag. He carefully didn't look at the image of the two blank faced individuals hugging a sad looking little boy.

Zetsu, who watched more than he spoke, tactfully turned the conversation away from Sasori and his drawing, giving the redhead some much needed time to regain his composure. Sasori shot Zetsu a supremely grateful look, which the pale boy answered with a slight noise.

They chatted about nothing at all until the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. As they gathered their things, Hidan suddenly turned to Sasori, demanding, "Who the fuck was your friend?"

Sasori shrugged. "He says his name's Deidara."

Kisame glanced over, curious. "He worth getting to know?"

Sasori shrugged again. "He's reasonably tolerable. Hyper as hell, especially when it comes to art, but he seems fairly decent."

Kakuzu's eyes flicked up. "Is he rich?"

"How should I know?" Sasori demanded. "I've only known him for two class periods, you know."

"You say he's an artist," Pein cut in, interrupting Kakuzu's reply. "What kind of art?"

"Sculpture, I think. He tends to go on about fire as well."

Pein's eyes turned speculative. "He could be useful."

"Useful?" Konan demanded scathingly. "In what sense, pray tell?"

"I don't have anything in particular in mind yet," Pein snapped back. "I'm just thinking ahead."

"To the day you need to incinerate the evidence?"

"Possibly."

Konan grimaced. "_Boys_. You never go for the subtle approach, do you?"

"Contingency plans are a wonderful thing."

"Not when they send you to jail they aren't."

"Um, guys?" They both turned to stare at Sasori. "Don't you have classes to go to or something?"

They both nodded, glowering.

"I don't," Kisame announced smugly.

"Lucky you," Itachi muttered.

"Hey, just because _you're_ taking advanced college level physics for geniuses doesn't mean all of us are that talented."

"You just don't apply yourself enough," Itachi informed his friend.

"Because _I_ have a life!"

Itachi's expression didn't change. "I'm not looking for one."

"Obviously." Kisame turned away from Itachi to look at the others. "What do you guys have?"

"Chem," Sasori answered. Chem was okay; not his favorite subject, but not actively evil either. Zetsu had it too, which made Sasori happier. At least he would know _someone_.

They walked into the classroom together, finding seats near the back of the room. A girl with blond hair looked up from a notebook as they sat down, they away. From the way she scribbled, Sasori guessed she was writing some kind of story, not taking notes. He dug out his sketchpad, turning to the half-finish sketch of his parents. Zetsu, being Zetsu, didn't comment, choosing instead to watch the girl as she wrote. Seeming to sense his gaze, she twisted in her seat to meet his eyes.

"What are you writing?" Sasori looked up, amazed that Zetsu was talking of his own free will. To a _girl_, no less!

"A story."

"What's it about?"

"Vampires. Sort of."

He nodded. "That's cool. Wish I could write."

She shrugged. "I've only been doing it for a year.

The teacher, a young-ish woman with short brown hair, entered the room then, cutting off whatever Zetsu was going to say. With a grimaced, he pulled out his own notebook and ripped out a piece of paper. Flipping the notebook closed to give himself a soft surface to write on, he began writing feverishly, his handwriting switching back and forth from cursive to print as he argued with the voice in his head. Sasori didn't bother trying to decipher the words. The pale boy and his voice got along about as well as Itachi and Sasuke, and any conversation between them was sure to involve more insults and wear words than even Hidan could manage, something was definitely an accomplishment.

The class, the introduction to an introduction to chemistry, passed quickly enough. Zetsu spend most of the period arguing with himself, and the girl didn't look back at him again. Sasori listened with half and ear to the teacher, continuing to polish his design as he did so. He already itched to get home to his workshop, where he could start actually building the things.

When the bell rang, he flipped the sketchpad closed and replaced it in his bag. Seeing that Zetsu was still deep in conversation with the voice in his head, he reached over to shake the boy's shoulder.

"Hey. Whichever one you are right now, class is over."

Zetsu looked up, blinking slightly. Glancing down, Sasori saw that his friend had filled up at least two pages front and back with his argument.

"You get anything decided?"

Zetsu shook his head, grimacing. "We still can't agree."

"What is it this time?"

Zetsu shrugged, clearly not wanting to say anymore. Sasori nodded, heading out of the room. He knew the feeling well enough himself.


	2. Woodwork

_Author's note: we're being slave-driven on this story. she's not even in the same _state_ as we are right now, and she won't leave us alone... the things we do for our friends... anyway, on to the disclaimer!  
Disclaimer: we own nothing, except erin and various teachers. well, we don't actually _own_ erin. that would be dominatrix-y and creepy and illegal. she owns herself. but we own her character in this story. except that the character is her. so we don't even own that. -sigh-  
Extra: oh, and we looked up the bits about woodworking. who ever said that we don't do our research, yeah?  
--kyra_

* * *

Woodwork

Sasori carefully unwrapped the miniature puppets, examining them for flaws this far into the procedure. He was supremely grateful that he had woodshop first on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It would be more than he could take to have to start every single day with an awful class. At least this way, he had something to look forward to every other day. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. Much better than nothing.

His eyes darted around the room, seeing other students bent over slabs of wood. It had been nothing more than sheer bliss to enter a classroom, one that was so familiar, despite the fact that he'd never actually been in it before, and get an actual _assignment_. He'd had to listen to so many boring lectures about how things were done in High School that he was ready to screw the entire thing and move on to college right away. Itachi could help him with entrance exams, right?

And then he'd come to woodshop, and right away the teacher had passed out blocks of wood and told them to make something. Some of the students, particularly the girls with long hair who were almost certainly only in this class because they needed the practical arts credits, had looked horrified at the idea, but, to Sasori, it was perfect. He immediately pushed away the wood slab, seeing it for the cheap stuff it was, and had removed his puppets, which he'd taken just in case. After all, there was no harm in hoping. This time, his hope had even been rewarded!

He picked up one of the school gouges and began to work on the finer points of his mother's cheeks and face. He would attach the hair and things later, but the basic head was all wood, and he wanted it to look as real as possible. He supposed it might not be as good as one his grandmother could make, but he was determined to try. After all, he was the last of the family; the talent was his to carry on as best he could. Being who he was, he knew in his heart that he would be the best.

The teacher, a burly-looking man with a mop of red hair, paused in front of Sasori, looking down in interest as the flame-headed boy worked. Sasori didn't glance up, absorbed as he was with the finer points of the cheekbone.

"That's some carving you've got there."

Sasori looked up at last, careful not to jar his knife and so destroy the balance that was the puppet. "It's not a carving."

"Oh? Then what is it? A statute?"

"A puppet."

The teacher's eyebrows lifted. He bent to examine the figures more closely. "May I?" he asked, nodding at the half-finished puppet of Sasori's father. Sasori shrugged, turning back to his work. The teacher gently picked up the puppet, carefully scrutinizing every inch of it. He put it back down with respect. "What's your name?"

"Sasori."

"Well, I'll say this right now, Sasori: I don't think this class has anything to teach you. Frankly, I'm amazed you're taking it."

Sasori shrugged. "There was a whole in my schedule."

"Tell me the truth: what do you expect to learn?"

"Nothing."

The teacher blinked at Sasori's bluntness. Sasori guessed that he hadn't been expecting such a frank answer. Well, he'd asked for it. Sasori wasn't one for mincing words, and he didn't believe in lying. It was far more trouble than it was worth.

"Right, well that's about right… So, why don't we do this? You can work on your puppets while I teach the class, and you'll check in periodically so that I can make sure you aren't goofing off. Not that I think you will. The way you work with those tools shows me that you know your way around wood. Incidentally, do you have your own?"

"Of course."

"You can bring them if you want. I wouldn't carry them around with you, but you can leave them here in the mornings. The ones here… might not be what you're used to."

"They're dull and cheap," Sasori agreed, putting the gouge down and blowing away the woodchips. "I'll bring my own." He reached for the sandpaper, finishing the soft curves and smoothing away the faults in the wood.

The teacher hesitated for a moment, then shrugged slightly, as if to say, 'he's odd and impolite, but not generally horrible.' He walked away, leaving Sasori alone at last. He sighed slightly in relief. He hated being watched as he worked. It made him uneasy, as though whoever it was was prying into his soul and exposing it to the world. Sasori guarded his work, as well as his soul, with a cold exterior, extending so far and so deeply that he almost believed it was all there was.

Far too early, the end of the period came, and he carefully put his puppets away, vowing to stash them in his locker at the soonest possible opportunity. It was one thing to sketch in class; it was quite another to be working on something like that. Sketching he could get away with. Carving, he couldn't.

He used the locker stop to check his schedule. Psychology. Lovely. Like woodshop, he was only taking it to fill a hole in his schedule. Imagine his surprise, and partial dismay, when he realized that Itachi was also taking the class. Itachi, despite his lack of communication skills, was one of Sasori's good friends, but there was no denying that being in a class with the black haired Uchiha genius was a bit of a blow to one's ego. One had to realize that there was no way in Hell one would be able to beat him, and the battles for grades were always for second highest spot. Ever since kindergarten, when Itachi had turned in his drawings colored perfectly within the lines more quickly than anyone else, no one had been able to beat him. Sasori, who was more competitive than he liked to admit, wasn't particularly happy about that. Still, having class with Itachi was better than having class with no one he knew at all.

Thankfully, his locker was close to the classroom, and he entered it with time to spare. Itachi, of course, was already there, but there were certainly many empty seats. Itachi didn't look up as Sasori sat down next to him, but the redhead knew that he'd been noticed and greeted. He nodded slightly in return and pulled out the sketchpad, flipping to an empty page and staring at it, wondering what to draw now? He'd reached the state of artistic voidness where he was pleasantly drained of all inspiration. He had no idea what to draw, but it was a soft not knowing, like when you've been running for a long time and stop to rest. In a few days, he would reach that state of crippling artist's block that consumed his very being until he could think of nothing else but the need to create, but he wasn't there yet, and he allowed the blankness of the page to lull him into a half-hypnotized state, broken only by the entrance of a familiar figure.

The blond girl sat down a little ways away and extracted her composition notebook from her backpack. _She_ didn't seem to suffer from any kind of artistic voidness, plunging as she did directly into the writing. Itachi's eyes flickered up once, then away, but Sasori guess that he'd seen and registered everything he needed to about her. He knew instantly that the black haired boy viewed the girl as no threat to him whatsoever. Sasori was inclined to agree. With as much attention as she paid to the actual classes, she would be lucky to pass, much less vie with Itachi for top spot.

Once again seeming to sense that she was being watched, she looked up from her notebook and met Sasori's eyes. She closed the notebook, though she kept it tucked into her arms, and went over to him.

"Hi. You're in my Chem class, aren't you?"

Sasori nodded.

"I'm Erin."

"Sasori."

She smiled, then nodded at the sketchpad. "You too?"

"Excuse me?"

"Clinically obsessed with what you do?"

Itachi, usually the quiet, stoic one, grimaced slightly, though whether it was a grimace of irritation at having his concentration interrupted or a grimace of amusement at Erin's description of Sasori's condition, Sasori couldn't tell. He didn't bother to ask. All he'd get in return would be one of Itachi's trademark glares.

"I suppose you could say that, yes," Sasori agreed dryly. "Why do you ask?"

Her smile turned to a full blown grin as she replied, "Oh, I'm just relieved to know that I'm not the only one." She gestured to her notebook. "I've lived with this for over a year now."

Sasori nodded. "I see. And it's all the same story about vampires?"

She nodded back. "Yep."

The bell signaling the beginning of the period rang then, and she flashed him a slightly apologetic smile as she scurried back to her seat. He nodded back slightly, then turned back to his paper, wondering what to draw. Artistic voidness was all very well, but there was no denying that being able to draw something would certainly kill the boredom creeping stealing towards him.

Thankfully, the teacher arrived moments later, her brisk step and business-like attitude enough to quell all cracks the students might have made about her being late. Even Erin poked her head up from her notebook, though she didn't go so far as to close it.

"Shall we get started?" Despite the question mark at the end, it clearly wasn't a question, and there were no answers. There _was_, however, an awful lot of paper-crumpling as people hastily tore out pages from notebooks that shouldn't be seen by teachers. Sasori wondered, with slight irony, whether any of the students were called up and studied by the class as test cases. If that were the case, maybe Zetsu should have signed up. Though, come to think about it, Itachi wouldn't make a bad lab rat… if he didn't kill the people trying to study him. Though it was probably that very psychotic tendency of his that would make him so interesting to study.

The paper rustling gradually faded to a hush, and the teacher smiled at them. "Thank you. My name's Miss Dunston, and I'm sure we're going to have a wonderful year together." Sasori knew already that he would hate her.

After English, which he had with Deidara, much to the latter's surprise and pleasure, Sasori meandered down to the cafeteria, wondering what to do about Deidara. There were Pein's instructions to be considered, of course, but there was also Deidara himself. He might be physically Sasori's age, but Sasori was fairly certain that he hadn't seen half the things Sasori had, and couldn't handle any of them. There was character as well as ability to be considered when dealing with new members.

He sat down at the table, greeting Konan and Itachi, the only other ones there already, before examining the substance on his plate.

"It's supposed to be meat," Konan remarked helpfully, as he poked dubiously at a quivering gray mass.

"I know what it's _supposed _to be," Sasori assured her. "I just don't think that that's what it _is_."

"Don't think what's what what is?"

Sasori glanced up as Kisame sat down on Itachi's other side and gestured at the pile of gray matter. "This is being advertised as some variety of meat product. It probably is, but I don't want to know _which_ variety."

Kisame shrugged and took a healthy bite of his own. Sasori winced at that. Despite the fact that Kisame could, and did, eat almost anything he came across, it was still unnerving and disgusting to see his friend dig in with such gusto to an unidentifiable substance.

Kisame chewed for far too long to make Sasori comfortable, swallowed, and nodded. "It's meat," he assured them. "Kinda rubbery, but eatable."

Konan looked at it with disgust, her pencil-drawn eyebrows scrunching together.

"Dude, that's fucking dumb ass," Hidan, apparently having caught Kisame's last remark, interrupted whichever scathing, but grammatically correct, remark Konan was about to utter. "I mean seriously! You don't know what that is!"

"Says the guy who drinks his own blood," Kisame snapped back, taking another bite.

Hidan scowled. "Will you all shut the hell up about that? You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, any of you. It's not suicide, and it's not vampirism. It's ritual mutilation to get in touch with God and nature."

Sasori grimaced. He didn't believe in God, and hearing Hidan go on about religion like that wasn't particularly pleasant, though it rated high on the entertainment scale, especially when Hidan and Kakuzu, even more atheist than Sasori, went at it with all they had. But Kakuzu was apparently thinking of something else, because he didn't retort with a biting comment about the futility of waiting for something you were never sure existed.

The conversation, lacking that crucial ingredient, lagged until Zetsu sat down. Sasori looked up as the boy sat across from him and smiled slightly. "I saw your friend today."

He blinked. "Who?"

"Erin. You know, the girl in chemistry yesterday."

Zetsu nodded, his face showing only the slightest trace of either embarrassment or excitement at the news.

"She's in our Psyche class."

"'Our' class?" Kisame leaned forward as Pein, the last of the group, joined them. "Who else is there?"

Sasori nodded at Itachi. Kisame turned to look at his friend. "_You're_ taking _**Psychology**_?!"

Itachi nodded slightly. "Why do you seem so surprised?"

"It's just… _you_? You could write the whole textbook if you wanted to!"

Itachi grimaced, standing. "Thank you so much," he replied. In anyone else, the tone would have been flat, completely emotionless. Coming from Itachi, they all knew that he was getting more than seriously angry with his navy-haired friend. And when Itachi got annoyed, blood tended to fly. "I love having my nose rubbed in my issues first thing each day. I shall come back tomorrow for another dose of your miracle medicine. Until then, goodbye." With that, he stalked away, the people stepping aside for him without quite knowing why they did so, just sensing that this wasn't a person to be trifled with.

Pein snorted. "Now you've done it," he informed a bewildered Kisame. "He won't talk to us all day. If we're lucky, he'll have forgiven us by tomorrow. If we're lucky."

"What did I say?" Kisame demanded, scowling. "I don't remember saying anything!"

Konan rolled her eyes. "Oh, _honestly_! Can you be _that_ dense?"

"Apparently so," Kisame snapped. "Care to enlighten me, oh elevated member of the female gender, since you seem to be so knowledgeable in the subject?"

Konan brushed a strand of cerulean hair behind her ear and replied, "Most people don't like being reminded of their personal issues. With Itachi, it's double, since no one's supposed to know about said issues. They're private, and he's bound to react that way to anyone or anything that seems about to jeopardize that privacy. Does that answer your question?"

Kisame was too busy staring at her to answer. Finally, he managed, "How do you _know_ that? I mean, I'm his best friend, and even _I_ don't know that much about him!"

She laughed, tossing the rest of her locks out of her way with an adroit twist of the head. "I'm a girl," she reminded him.

"I had noticed that, yes," he agreed.

"Then you should know that we're more observant, more perceptive, and less stubborn than the common male." This was punctuated with a glower at Pein, who glowered right back.

Kisame raised his hands slightly in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I get it. Jeez, you'd think I'd broken a cardinal rule or something."

"You did," Pein answered. "You insulted girls. She doesn't like that."

Konan's glower intensified. "I can fight my _own_ battles, thanks all the same," she snapped.

"I'm not trying to fight them for you," he snapped back. "I'm trying to keep the peace so that we don't end up killing each other."

"As opposed to killing our 'enemies'?"

"Or severely injuring them," Pein replied seriously, oblivious to any undertones of sarcasm that might have leaked into her words. Zetsu, less oblivious, snickered quietly. Pein shot a glance at him, decided not to ask, and looked away.

They continued eating in silence, none of them really willing to antagonize anyone farther. The thing with being part of a group like theirs was that one had to learn when not to speak. One's life could depend on it… literally.

The bell finally rang, and they stood, gathering their things and disposing of their largely untouched meals. Only Kisame had eaten any of the meat, and even he hadn't attempted to consume the salad. Then again, it _was_ Kisame. He was almost as much of a complete carnivore as Zetsu, who hadn't eaten anything other than meat for far too long.

Suddenly, Itachi's scowling figure appeared in the doorway, his red contacts only enhancing his dangerous aura. Kisame frowned slightly, and walked towards his friend. Sasori followed, staying slightly to the side, so as to avoid being in direct range of Itachi's trademark glare. Sasori would do many, if not most things, but crossing Itachi when he was in _this_ kind of mood wasn't one of them.

"Where did you go?" Kisame demanded, also slightly to one side.

"Library."

"Oh?"

"And I got _nothing_ done!"

"Why not?"

"I was… distracted." Well, that was certainly a first. Uchiha Itachi getting distracted? Sasori wasn't at all sure he had ever experienced that before. It had to be a new sensation and, if Itachi's rigidly controlled rage was any indication, it wasn't a pleasant one.

"By what?" Kisame was clearly curious. Anything that could distract Itachi was worth steering away from.

"Girl."

Despite the hubbub in the cafeteria, Sasori heard absolutely dead silence for the next three seconds. He and Kisame exchanged horrified glances, which translated to, 'This can't possibly be the Itachi we know and fear. It has to be an impersonation.'

"Irritation." Itachi had clearly noticed the distinct lack of anything even remotely resembling noise.

Kisame let out his breath. "Oh. That's a relief."

Itachi turned his glare on his friend, but it had toned down several megawatts. He didn't look at Sasori, for which the redhead was very grateful. Even toned down, he didn't want to face Itachi's glare.

"Who was it?" Kisame asked, his stance and tone indicating that whoever it was had very little time left to live. He was already fingering his inside pocket, which contained the wickedly sharp pocket knife which he kept on him at all times.

"The girl in psychology." Kisame didn't know her, but Sasori did. His eyes widened.

"Erin? What did she _do_?"

Itachi didn't reply. Kisame glanced at Sasori. "Who?"

Sasori shrugged. "She's in our psychology class. She also has Chem with me and Zetsu."

"Oh, the one he's talking to?"

Sasori nodded. Itachi glanced at him. "Zetsu likes her?"

Sasori nodded again. "I think he likes her. Or the voice does. I'm not sure which. They argued about it all period yesterday."

Kisame snorted. "This'll be fun. Has he ever actually _talked_ to a girl?"

"He has now. They had almost a whole conversation yesterday. Besides, there's Konan."

"How much do Zetsu and Konan talk?"

Sasori considered it. "I don't believe they do," he said finally.

"See?"

Itachi made a sound which clearly said, 'I'm Itachi, and I'm pissed, and you guys aren't paying any attention to me here!'

Kisame turned back to him. "What do you expect me to say? You met a girl, you argued with her, and you lost. Nothing'll change that, and the only way you'll get over it is to go terrorize your brother and his friends."

"A temporary solution. No, this girl must be neutralized, and at once."

Sasori raised his eyebrows. "'Neutralized?' A little harsh, don't you think? What are you going to do, beat her to death with a textbook?" He glanced at Itachi's textbooks. "Come to think of it, that might actually work. Though Zetsu wouldn't be pleased."

Kisame looked at him darkly, an action which Sasori interpreted to mean, 'You're not helping, you know.'

He shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I'm off. See you guys tomorrow." He left the cafeteria, heading for his locker.

Zetsu caught up with him halfway there. "What did you do it Itachi?"

"Me? Nothing! It's your girlfriend who's got him all riled up."

"She's _not_ my girlfriend!"

Sasori stopped, and stared at his friend. He hadn't expected such a reaction. Zetsu wasn't one to get worked up over things. That he was so adamantly denying even the possibility of a relationship with Erin spoke volumes about how much he actually did like her.

Sasori shrugged. "Have it your way. Anyway, if you want to know what happened, ask her."

Zetsu shook his head. "No thanks. What do you have next?"

"I'm off."

"Me too."

Sasori grinned. "Cool. What are you going to do?"

Zetsu shrugged. "Go home, probably. Anything to stay out of Hidan and Kakuzu's way."

"Why?"

"They're arguing about religion again."

Sasori rolled his eyes. "Oh God. No pun intended. Will they never stop?"

"Probably not."

"Then I'm going to stay out of their way too. I'm assuming that they're off as well?"

Zetsu nodded. Sasori sighed. "Figures. You want to go eat something?"

"We just had lunch," Zetsu pointed out.

"How much of that did _you_ eat?"

Zetsu smiled slightly. "Good point. Where do you want to go?"

Sasori shrugged. "I don't care. Anything good around here?"

"Chipotle," Zetsu suggested. "They have good food."

Sasori looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "How much of it is vegetable-like?"

His smile turned into a full fledged grin. "Not much at all."

Sasori laughed. "Figures. All righ,t let's go. I'll pay this time."

Zetsu nodded, and they started off towards the front door, backpacks slung carelessly over one shoulder. "I can sense this will be a tradition."

"Same. Especially if Kisame keeps going on about the lunch meat."

Zetsu shuddered slightly. "Not before we eat. Please."

Sasori laughed again.


	3. The Invitation

_Author's note: i like this one. it's full of entertaining dialog, which is one of my favorite things to write. writing sasori talking is _almost_ as fun as blaise (from harry potter). not quite, but almost.  
anyway, hope you like it! this one has lots of deidara in it, which should make you happy.  
Disclaimer: i've been reading the character descriptions of wikipedia, and, i have to say, i doubt i would be capable of writing a character like naruto. i suppose it's a good thing that it doesn't belong to me, isn't it?  
--kyra_

* * *

The invitation

"Invite him to the lunch table today."

Sasori stared at Pein, wondering if the other boy had developed a nasty case of 'insane.' They didn't even _know_ Deidara! "What?"

"You heard me. I want to meet him."

"You're in our art class, remember?"

"Outside of class."

Sasori sighed in exasperation. "_Why_?"

"Because he could be an asset to us."

Sasori planted his hands on his hips, glaring at his friend. "What exactly do you mean by 'asset?'"

Pein shrugged. "Aren't there people _you _wouldn't mind killing?"

"Well… yes. But we have Itachi and Hidan for that."

"What about things you'd like to burn down?"

Sasori glanced around, making sure no teacher was within hearing distance. "You know, this really isn't the kind of conversation we should be having in school."

"Stop changing the subject."

Sasori sighed. "Look, why don't _you_ ask him?"

"He knows you," Pein pointed out. "You have three classes together, and you both like art."

"So? That doesn't make him my _friend_, you know."

Pein looked at him, his pierced eyebrow raised cynically.

"It's true!" Sasori protested, uncomfortable.

"Mm-hmm. And how much do you _want_ him to be your friend?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pein shrugged. "Nothing."

Sasori scowled. "Stop being deliberately obtuse, Pein. Explain what you meant by that statement."

Pein shook his head. "I'll leave you to figure it out for yourself. If you're that dense, then you don't deserve to know."

"Oh, and you expect me to do you favors? I'd think twice if I were you. You do realize that I owe you that last puppet and, at this rate, you'll never get it."

Pein sighed. "Look, never mind about the friends thing, okay? Just invite him to eat with us."

Sasori grimaced. "You will owe me big for this, my friend."

Pein shrugged. "So what else is new? I already owe Konan my soul, what's another couple years of slavery?"

"You owe Konan your soul?"

"Long story. So you'll do it?"

Sasori sighed. "I'll do it. And a couple years of slavery are only the _beginning_."

Pein waved this away. "Then I'll see you at lunch."

Sasori nodded, heading off to woodshop. After his first talk with the teacher, he'd been moved to the back of the room, where he could do whatever he wanted. Pulling out his iPod, he set it to shuffle and began to work, silently mouthing the words of the song.

Woodshop went quickly, as always. It was quickly becoming one of his favorite classes, mostly because he was completely free from either homework or lectures. So it was with a sigh that he put his tools away and wrapped up his puppets. He was almost done with them. He wondered vaguely what he would do with them when he finished. Maybe he could give them to his grandmother for her birthday. She missed his parents as much as he did, if not more. After all, he hadn't actually known them, just heard stories. Stories were all very well, but it wasn't even close to the real thing.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts away, he left the room, heading for his locker. He placed his puppets on the shelf and took out his backpack, which he'd taken to stashing in his locker for shop. It wasn't as though he needed it, after all, and it tended to get in his way. But now he needed it, and it was with a slight grin that he picked up his psychology book. He was growing to love psychology, not for the actual material covered, but for the obvious tension between Itachi and Erin. It clearly galled Itachi that the girl knew as much as he did, despite her constant air of lightness and disinterest. It amused Sasori no end to see how she answered all the questions right without once taking her eyes off her notebook. The teacher had even stopped telling her to put the thing away after realizing that she could multitask as well as anyone, if not better.

They were both there when he came in, and, as he took his customary seat next to Itachi, she smiled at him. She'd started talking to him in class – mostly because he was there and it annoyed Itachi – and he was finding that he almost enjoyed her company. She had entertaining things to say, which was more than could be said for most people. Even his own friends, much as he liked them, were notably lacking in the sarcasm and irony departments.

He nodded at her notebook. "How's the story going?"

She shrugged. "All right. I'm putting Zetsu into it."

Sasori raised his eyebrows. "With his permission?"

She grinned. "Of course!"

"Have you actually _asked_ him yet?"

"No. But you know he'll say yes."

Sasori had to agree with her there. It was amazing how much Zetsu had opened up to the girl. With everyone else, he was still the shy, rather taciturn boy he'd always been, but with Erin, he was actually an interesting person with almost as many things to say as her which, when considering how much Erin loved to talk, was a huge accomplishment.

"Most people ask _before_ saying they have permission," Itachi growled, glaring up at her. Her smile widened, and Sasori shook his head slightly. She seemed to have some kind of immunity to Itachi's glare powers. He wondered how she did it.

"Since when am I most people, hmm Andi?"

"_Andi_?!" Sasori demanded, shocked. Itachi's expression, while not having actually _changed_ seemed to be carved in stone, as though only his will was preventing it from morphing into an expression of furious disgust.

Erin nodded. "Mm-hmm. Short for Android. He didn't tell you that we talked in the library the other day?"

"He did mention it," Sasori admitted.

"Bet he didn't tell you any specifics, did he?"

"Of course not," Itachi snapped, his voice tight.

She grinned. "Figures. Well, just this once, I won't either. I really am a nice person after all!"

"How can you say that with a straight face?"

She laughed. "I'm a good liar. And a good actress. And, anyway, it's _true_!"

Sasori snorted. He might not know her as well as Zetsu did, but he sincerely doubted that she was what most people would classify as a 'nice' person.

"You don't believe me?" she demanded, turning towards him, an expression of mock hurt plastered over her face. "You wound me!"

"Sure I do," he agreed dryly. "Go back to your story and leave Itachi alone. You'll give him an apoplexy at this rate."

"Oh, anything but that," she agreed, solemn faced. "Breathe, Andi. However would I explain it to your friends if you died from lack of air?"

Itachi only growled incoherently, but he did take a breath. She grinned brightly at them, then turned back to her seat and began writing. Sasori spent the rest of the period watching Itachi as he struggled to pay attention instead of killing Erin. From the way he eyed the textbooks, Sasori guessed that his theory about how Itachi would kill her was correct, and he wondered if he should warn her. In the end, he decided not to. She really did deserve it.

And then it was time for English, and time for Sasori to talk to Deidara. He'd managed to forget about Pein's demand for most of the morning, but seeing the blond boy brought it all back. He grimaced.

"You that happy to see me, yeah?"

Sasori shook his head. "It's not you."

"Oh yeah? So what is it?"

Sasori sighed. "Never mind."

Deidara scowled. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I _said_, never mind!"

"Fine, _be_ that way." Deidara turned away, sitting down with his back to Sasori and taking out his clay. Sasori sat down as well, and pulled out his sketchpad. He looked at it blankly for a long moment, unable to think of anything to draw. It was _that_ kind of artists block, the kind that made one scream in frustration because they _needed_ to draw and couldn't. He growled softly under his breath and turned back to his previous sketches. He quickly skipped over the one of him and his parents: in his current mood, he didn't need reminders of the grimmer aspects of his life. Instead, he focused on a happier one, one of him and his friends. They were all there, each wearing expressions ranging from carefree laughter (Kisame) to apathy (Itachi) to downright grumpiness (Hidan). He himself stood in the middle, his eyes half-closed, and his mouth turned up in a slight smile. He hated drawing himself, but that one had turned out decently well.

Looking at the drawing seemed to give him inspiration, because he found himself turning back to the blank page, his hands already wrapped around his pencil, drawing lines on the paper before his brain could quite process what was going on. He could only watch with a bemused air as his appendages did their own thing, completely out of his control. When he realized what it was they were drawing, he could have groaned aloud. Did he _have_ to draw Deidara? Couldn't his subconscious have picked someone else?

Apparently not, and, as he drew the blond boy's face in more detail, he found that he didn't mind it all that much. After all, he _had_ been looking for someone to draw, and there was no denying that Deidara presented a challenge. He'd never been good at hair, and Deidara had a lot of it.

"What are you doing, yeah?"

Sasori turned to see Deidara staring at him, a frown on his face. He shrugged. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're drawing me."

"Very good. You win."

Deidara scowled. "I know _what_ you're doing. I want to know _why_, yeah."

"Would you believe me if I told you I didn't know?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. Let us say that I have been taken over by little demons who are making my arms move without my telling them to." Heck, it was almost true. He'd always known his artistic urges were the fault of beings higher up the evolutional scale than he was.

Deidara scowled. "Little demons?"

Sasori nodded.

Deidara laughed, surprising Sasori greatly. "I see your point."

"You get them too?"

"Yeah."

Sasori laughed. "That's good to know. I was starting to think I was the only one."

"I doubt it. Where there are artists, there will be little demons."

Sasori grinned, suddenly much more at ease with what he had to do. Maybe inviting Deidara to eat with them wouldn't be that bad. Then Deidara turned back to his clay and started muttering to himself about blowing it up, and Sasori changed his mind. It _would_ be that bad.

Still, orders were orders, and, much as he hated to admit it, Pein _was_ the leader of the group, and he knew how to cause pain as well as the best of them. Probably better. With a sigh, Sasori turned back to his picture. Orders might be orders, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about them. It also didn't mean he had to do it in person.

He began shading the picture in, wondering as he did so just what he thought he was doing. If he knew people, and he thought that he did, this would seem less a way of following orders, and more a declaration of friendship. Did he really want to be seen as offering his friendship?

Probably he did. After all, if Pein had his way, then Deidara would be eating with them often, and it would pay to make friends. Still, he didn't particularly want to make friends this way.

As usual, his subconscious had other ideas, and, as he finished his shading, he found himself writing a note off to one side. Apparently he didn't get a choice in the matter after all. Still, he exerted some control over his wandering subconscious and made himself fold it up into a small square and put in his pocket. No way was he going to give it to Deidara before he had to.

Class passed far, far too quickly. Normally Sasori, who wasn't a big fan of English class, longed for the time to pass quickly but, now that he had a reason to want it to slow down, it granted his wish and sped by like lightning. Not for the first time, he cursed the irony that was time.

Finally, as they were putting their things away, he reached into his pocket and drew out the folded square that was the picture and invitation. He tossed it at Deidara, who caught it adroitly. Sasori watched as he unfolded it, wondering how the blond would react.

Deidara's one visible eyebrow shot up, and he turned to stare at Sasori. "_This_ is what you were nervous about?" he demanded, brandishing the image. "You just want to invite me to eat _lunch_ with you?"

Sasori scowled. "We don't invite just _anyone_ to eat lunch with us, you know."

Deidara's eyebrow vanished farther into his hairline. "Oh, well in that case, are you sure I'm dressed correctly? Since I seem to have been invited to dine with _exclusive_ company and all."

"Watch it," Sasori warned. "I was instructed to bring you, not to make sure that you were in one piece."

"Instructed?"

"You don't think I'm doing it out of my own free will, do you?"

"I kinda was, yeah."

"Well, I'm not. Sorry if I burst any kind of bubble you have, but I'm _not_ your friend."

"What makes you think I want to be your friend?"

"I hope you don't!"

"I don't!"

"Good!"

"And I won't eat with you, so there!"

"Yes you will."

"I thought you said you weren't my friend."

"I'm not."

"Then, why…"

"I was instructed to, remember? If I don't bring you, Pein'll be pissed, and I'd rather not have to deal with that."

"Pein? You mean the redhead with all the piercing who hates his girlfriend?"

"He doesn't hate her, but yes, that's him."

"He acts like he does."

"Appearances can be deceiving. We're going to be late."

Deidara scowled. "And what if I _want_ to be late, yeah?"

Sasori scowled at him, his hands on his hips in exasperation. "Look, I'm not any happier about this than you are, okay? Let's just get it over with. I might not like you, but there's no point in letting Kisame skewer you or Hidan sacrifice you."

"Sacrifice me?"

"You heard me."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

"What do you mean by sacrifice?"

Sasori glowered. "Do you do it on purpose?"

"Of course I do, yeah. What do you mean by sacrifice?"

Sasori sighed. "I'll let him explain it to you. Are you coming?"

"I don't have a choice?"

"No."

"Then I'll come."

"Good."

Sasori led the way, bypassing the lunch line. He hadn't regained his appetite for cafeteria food, and, anyway, he and Zetsu would be going to Chipotle after lunch, as was their custom.

"Don't you eat, yeah?"

"No this stuff. You can get some if you want." Sasori pointed at the table. "We're over there."

Deidara nodded and headed towards the lunch line. Sasori proceeded on to the table, sitting down in his usual seat. Pein looked sharply at him.

"He's coming," Sasori replied, before his friend could say anything. "I sent him off to get food."

Zetsu glanced at him in surprise.

"Food for _him_, not for me," Sasori clarified.

Kisame shook his head. "I don't understand what you have against it," he complained. "It's not _that_ bad!"

"You're not one to talk when it comes to food," Sasori informed him. "You eat anything that doesn't move when you look at it."

"Sometimes he'll eat it even if it does," Zetsu muttered. Sasori laughed.

"Could you _boys_ please refrain from such talk at the table?" Konan asked sharply, glaring at them. "_Some_ of us don't have the liberty of going off campus to eat after this."

"Sorry," Sasori muttered.

"Where is he?" Pein demanded, scanning the crowd. "You said he just went to get food."

"Watch it, or Konan will get jealous."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sasori had to laugh as both of them spoke at the same time. Their tone was exactly the same too.

"You're both smart. Figure it out."

"Do you like having all of your limbs?" Pein asked tartly.

"I must say that I do."

"Then I'd be careful what you say."

Sasori grimaced. "Fine, be that way. Here he comes, by the way."

Pein looked up to see Deidara heading towards them. Sasori waved the blond over, though he didn't leave a seat for him. Deidara glanced around, then settled himself next to Kisame, putting him directly opposite Hidan. The two blonds examined each other warily, then decided to ignore each other. Sasori looked at Pein.

"There he is. I've done my bit. Now it's up to you."

Pein scowled at him, then turned to Deidara. "So, you like fire, don't you?"


	4. Phone calls

_Author's note: So sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I had an evil case of writer's block, no doubt brought on by a nasty case of vacationitis. I haven't managed to shake it yet, but I'm learning to work around it.  
So what to say about this chapter? Not much, actually. Just enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think.  
Oh yeah, and this chapter is dedicated to _I Spazz With Pizzazz_ who helped me back into writing mode with her amazing stories and her reviews of this one. Thanks so much!  
Disclaimer: I still can't remember the name of the guy who owns Naruto, but it isn't me.  
--Tamara_

* * *

Phone call

Sasori walked slowly home from Chipotle, wondering as he did so what exactly he was feeling. It wasn't like he had anything concrete to worry about. Well, apart from school and crazy grandmothers, but those were old worries. This was different. This was something new, something unknown. Sasori didn't like the unknown. He liked things to be orderly and carefully routine. Surprises disturbed him, and he hated changes to his daily routine. Maybe it was because he'd had such a disrupted childhood, but he'd always wanted to control as much of his life as he could.

His grandmother was in front of the television when he came in, and he didn't bother her. If he tried to talk to her, she'd start nagging him about making something of his life or start asking about his social life. She was constantly worried that he didn't have enough 'real' friends. It was ridiculous. He had plenty of friends, and, anyway, he'd rather be alone. At least when he was alone, he didn't have to answer stupid questions or dodge verbal assaults.

So, instead, he headed across the kitchen towards their workshop. There, at least, was something both he and his grandmother could understand. It was the one thing, besides his parents, that they had in common, and their conversations tended to revolve around puppets. At least they had _something_ to talk about, unlike Kisame, who communicated with his parents uniquely though post-it notes and phone messages. Maybe that was why the tall navy-haired boy talked so much in school: he didn't do it at all at home, and he had to get it all out somewhere.

Once inside the workshop, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He loved the smell inside the shop, loved the mixture of sawdust and paint and wood polish that permeated the air. Only here did he feel truly at home. He moved over to his worktable and spread out his puppets, delighted to finally work on them in a place fit to be called a workshop. It wasn't that the one at school was _horrible_, though it was pretty bad, but he knew where everything was here, and it was _his_. It was amazing how much difference that one simple fact made.

He bent over his father and set to work, shaping the feet just so and debating whether to paint the toes purple, just for fun. It wouldn't be permanent, of course, but it would give his grandmother a good fright. It might even be entertaining. Finally, though, he decided not to. No point wasting good paint.

He didn't know how long he worked before she called him up for dinner. At least an hour, that was certain, because it would have taken her that long to finish the program she'd been watching. Probably longer, if she'd decided to cook.

She hadn't, and he was greeted by the odor of take-out Chinese food. He sighed. Why could she never remember how much he loathed Chinese food? He turned to the fridge, looking to see if there were any eatable leftovers. There weren't. All there was was more left over Chinese in Styrofoam containers, or ancient leftovers from a time when his grandmother had thought herself quite the amateur chef. Sasori decided to just go hungry. It hadn't been _that _long since Chipotle, after all.

"Aren't you going to eat?" his grandmother called after him as he headed towards his bedroom.

"No," he called back, closing the door to the kitchen before she could argue.

Once in his room, he flopped back on his bed and closed his eyes, resigning himself to another night of insomnia. He didn't do it on purpose, but his system needed very little sleep. He wasn't like that creep Gaara in Sasuke's grade, who deliberately went without sleep in an attempt to 'purge his body of demons.' Sasori snorted. But that wouldn't help his current situation any. With a sigh, he flipped over onto his stomach and fished out another sketchpad, stored under his bed for such occasions.

He'd barely started when his grandmother's voice floated up the staircase: "Sasori! Phone!"

He groaned, dropping the sketchpad again and sitting up. "Coming." Who in Hell would be calling him at this hour? He glanced at his watch, only to discover that it was only six thirty. Oh. Even so, though…

He crossed the three steps into the living room to reclaim the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey. It's Pein."

Sasori winced. Great. That was _just_ what he needed. "What's up?"

"You free?"

"Depends. What are you planning?" Deciding that this wasn't the best conversation to have in front of his grandmother, he retreated back to his room and bolted the door securely.

"An initiation for our new member."

Sasori grimaced. "You going to make him run a gauntlet?"

"Metaphorically speaking."

"What do you need me for? You're perfectly capable of doing it on your own."

Sasori could just see Pein's grimace of annoyance as he snapped, "I want _everyone_ there, Sasori."

"Even Tobi?"

This time, there was an audible sigh. "Yeah, even Tobi."

Sasori groaned. "Oh, lovely. Remind me again why I accepted your offer?"

An evil leer now. Sasori would bet on it. "Because you had no other friends and I offered you my protection from the bullies in seventh grade."

Sasori winced. "That was a rhetorical question. I _know_ why I accepted."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Never mind." Sarcasm was completely wasted on Pein, a fact that Konan was quick to pick up on and complain about. "What time are you planning your orientation?"

"So you'll be there?"

"I didn't say that."

"You'll be there." And, with a sigh, Sasori realized that he probably would be. But he didn't have to _like_ it.

"What time?"

"Around eight. Don't expect to be home early."

"I have my own house key."

"Good. Meet us then at my place. My parents are out." That wasn't exceptional. Pein hardly saw his parents, much to their chagrin, though not his. They were convinced that, if they'd been around more, Pein wouldn't be the person he was. Pein was too, but he didn't see any problem with the person he was, and didn't want to be the person they wanted him to be.

"Figures. Will everyone else be there?"

"Yes."

"Have you asked them all yet?"

"Konan's called Itachi and Kisame and Zetsu, I called you and Hidan and Kakuzu and you will call Deidara."

"Wait, what?!"

"You heard me."

"Since when do I have his phone number?"

"I have it."

"Then why don't you call him yourself?"

"Because he doesn't like me."

"And you think he likes me?"

"He knows you."

"We didn't part on the best of terms."

"So this is a way to repair your relationship."

"We don't _have_ a relationship!"

This was met with peals of feminine laughter. Sasori groaned. He was probably on speaker phone. Wonderful.

Sure enough, Konan's voice came through his end. "Just keep telling yourself that, and you might start to believe it."

"I do believe it. And I'll thank you to stay out of it. Fix your own love life before you mess with mine, Konan."

"My love life is perfectly under control, thank you very much."

"Is it indeed? I'll remind you of that next time you and Pein get into one of your fights."

"I said under control, not perfect."

"Konan, cool it." That was Pein again, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation. It was a mistake

"Oh, you're one to talk! The way _you're_ acting, you'd think this was the end of the world! Wouldn't it just serve you right if Deidara refused to come!"

"He'll come."

"You can't know that!"

"He'll come. Trust me."

Sasori grimaced. "If you two are going to argue, I'm hanging up."

"You do that." Konan. "See you around eight."

"See you. Try not to kill each other before then."

"I'll do my best. See you."

Pein cut in one last time, with a slightly muffled, "Call Deidara!" before the line cut off. Sasori looked at the phone in his hand for a long moment, then groaned. Now what? He'd forgotten to ask Pein for Deidara's phone number, and no way was he calling back _now_. He'd catch them either arguing passionately or kissing equally passionately, and he didn't feel like interrupting either. Instead, he did the nest best thing he could think of: he called Itachi.

"Hello?" Itachi didn't seem surprised to get a call from Sasori, but then, this was Itachi.

"Hey. Can you do me a favor?"

"Mm."

"I need Deidara's phone number."

"Oh?"

"Pein's told me _I_ need to call him for tonight, and I don't have it. Do you?"

"Mm."

"And could you give it to me?"

"Ngh."

"Why not?"

"'Cause."

Wow, a whole word. Sasori wondered if he should feel honored. He didn't. "Stop being stubborn. Just give it to me, and I'll leave you alone."

Itachi was silent for a moment, then muttered a garbled set of syllables. Thankfully Sasori was accustomed to talking to Itachi, though not over the phone, and he managed to get it. He hoped.

"278-2264?"

"Mm."

"Thanks. See you."

"Bye." Itachi hung up, and Sasori sighed. That phone call had been cake compared to the one that would come next. Itachi might not be communicative, but at least he was on decent terms with the others. Deidara probably hated Sasori by now. Not that that was a bad thing, mind you! Sasori hated Deidara too, hated him in the same way he hated Tobi and Naruto: as an annoying nuisance who should mind his own business. But, like with Tobi and, to an extent, Naruto, Pein was making it impossible for them to mind their own business. It crossed Sasori's mind that maybe it was _Pein_ that he should be hating, but Pein could make his life a misery far too easily, and, anyway, Sasori owed Pein big time.

He grimaced and turned back to the phone. Might as well get it over with. He dialed the number.

"Who is it, yeah?"

"Do you usually begin your conversations like this?"

"Who is it?"

"Sasori."

"You could have just said so, yeah!"

"You don't recognize my voice? I'm heartbroken."

"Really?"

"No."

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence during which Sasori picked up his sketchpad again. Then, "So why did you call? Heck, how did you get my number, yeah?"

"Itachi."

"Who?"

"Itachi. You know, the black haired boy with red contacts."

"The one who looks at you like he wants to kill you, yeah?"

"That's the one."

"Why does he have my number, yeah?"

"He's Itachi. He's got the directory memorized."

"Anal, anyone?"

"No, Itachi. He's like that."

"Oh. So why did you call again?"

Sasori sighed. "Pein's orders." Even as he said it, he winced. That probably wasn't the best way to begin a conversation.

Sure enough, Deidara didn't take it particularly well. "Oh, so you do his chores now? Do you bring him the newspaper in the mornings too, yeah?"

"No, that's Konan's job."

There was a beat of shocked silence. "Really?"

"No."

"Oh. Then…"

Sasori cut him off before he could go into full rant mode. "We can argue about this later. I have no desire to stay on the phone with you any longer than necessary, so listen up. Pein's having a meeting tonight around eight tonight. You're coming."

"I don't get a choice, yeah?"

"No."

"Like at lunch?"

"Exactly."

"Don't you get tired of doing what he says all the time, yeah?"

"You get used to it."

"I won't."

"You'd better."

"Why?"

"Because he can make your life a misery otherwise."

Deidara didn't answer this. Sasori grimaced. "That's the message. Be there on time."

"Where's it supposed to be?"

"Pein's."

"Which is…?"

"In the school directory." Sasori didn't listen to Deidara's protests and hung up, leaving the phone lying face down on the bed. Glancing at his clock, he saw he'd managed to waste nearly forty-five minutes on the phone. He picked up his sketchbook again; no reason not to use his remaining time in a productive manner. He got to work on a new sketch, purposely ignoring that it was, yet again, a sketch of Deidara.

* * *

_Author's note 2: you know we don't usually do these, but it suddenly occured to us that we forgot something earlier: look at dei's phone number. cookies to those who get the joke!  
--kyra_


	5. A modern gauntlet

_Author's note: I apologize in advance for the shortness of this chapter. It was a _lot_ longer in my notebook (10 and a half pages!) and suddenly when I typed it, it was only five and a bit! So I'm sorry. Hope you like it anyway!  
Disclaimer: nope, don't own it, and have no intentions of buying it.  
--Tamara_

* * *

A modern gauntlet

Sasori arrived later more out of principle than anything. He disliked having Pein dictate his schedule, regardless of how very much he owed the orange haired boy, and he showed it as much as he could. He couldn't do much, but he tried. Being late was one way of showing it.

When he stepped into Pein's basement, he saw that he wasn't the last to arrive. Deidara still wasn't there, and Kisame looked to have just sat down. Sasori shot Pein a look as he sat, daring the older boy to say anything. Pein didn't, but Sasori got a glare which told him that his lateness would not be forgotten.

"Did you call him?"

Sasori nodded in answer to Konan's question.

"And will he come?"

Sasori shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me if he came very late."

"Later than you, you mean?" Pein demanded, scowling.

Sasori shrugged again, not answering. Instead, he glanced around, examining the room. Pein and Konan were there, of course, seated on Pein's bed at the head of the sloppy half circle, carefully _not_ touching each other. Hidan and Kakuzu sat on their left, avoiding each other just as carefully as the other two. Hidan's wrists sported new, painful looking lacerations, which Kakuzu's dare eyes continuously darted back to. From the unhappy slant of his mouth, Sasori guessed that the two had argued about Hidan's masochistic tendancies fairly recently. He shrugged slightly. It wasn't his problem.

Itachi and Kisame sat opposite Hidan and Kakuzu, not looking at each other, but not actively avoiding each other either. It was a refreshing change. Zetsu sat next to Kisame, his face slightly blank as he talked with Aki, the voice in his head.

Sasori looked around again, more carefully this time. "Where's…" he began, but a high, slightly squeaky voice interrupted him.

"Hi Sasori! Boy is Tobi glad to see you! Nobody's talking to anyone, and it makes Tobi sad. Oh, do you want some lemonade? Tobi made it himself! Nobody else has had any, and it makes Tobi sad. Do you want to try? Please?"

"…Tobi," Sasori finished, eyeing the newly emerged masked figure with disgust. "And no, I have no desire for that stuff you call lemonade. Get out of my personal space _now_."

Tobi retreated obediently and set down his tray of fluorescent yellow liquid. He plopped himself down next to Zetsu, who backed away without missing a beat in his internal conversation.

"Does that answer your question?" Konan asked, grinning slightly.

"It does."

Just then, the front door slammed shut, and an all too familiar voice called, "Hello? Is anybody there, yeah?"

Pein just looked at Sasori, who stood and headed for the stairs, wondering when he'd become Deidara's designated caretaker. As far as he could recall, he'd never actually been asked his opinion. Though he hadn't really expected to. At least it wasn't Tobi…

Deidara was standing in the living room, looking around with interest.

"Have you ever heard of a doorbell?" Sasori asked dryly, leaning against the doorframe leading into the room from the kitchen.

Deidara started. "Have _you_ ever heard of announcing your presence, yeah?"

Sasori ignored this. "Come on. They're waiting." He headed back towards the stairs, not checking to see if Deidara was following. He descended the stairs slowly, hearing Deidara's footsteps behind him. Good. At least he wouldn't have to go back up to fetch the brat a secont time.

No one had moved downstairs, not even Tobi, though the latter was chattering incessantly about a new toy he'd gotten for his birthday. From the very little he heard, Sasori gathered that it was called a Bionacle, or something like that, and that it was green. Je also saw Hidan eyeing his twelve inch dagger longingly. Sasori reached out and decked Tobi. Hard. The eighth grader slumped slightly and, mercifully, shut up.

"Thank fucking God," Hidan growled, putting his knife away. "I thought the little shit would never shut the fuck up."

Pein glanced at him, then turned his eyes back to Sasori and Deidara. He jerked his head, and the two sat down. Sasori purposefully put Deidara next to the still silent Tobi.

Once they'd all settled themselves, Pein began to speak, giving Deidara his, "We are Big and Scary and we will Take Over The World" speech. Sasori, who had heard it before, spent his time examining Deidara's reactions. To his credit, the blond didn't seem to be completely taken in by Pein's words. That was good. Sasori admired Pein as a leader, and even occasionally liked him as a person, but his grasp of the bigger picture was often far too ambitious. But, at least he got them places, which was better than nothing at all.

Pein finally finished talking, and all eyes turned to Deidara, who clearly had no clue what came next. Sasori leaned over. "This is the part where you swear your loyalty to Pein and put yourself at his complete disposal," he hissed.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Pause. "What if I don't want to, yeah?"

Sasori shrugged. "You don't really have a choice."

Deidara scowled and stood. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don't want anything to do with you, yeah." He made his way towards the door and started to leave, but suddenly froze. Slowly, he turned to see Itachi gripping his collar bone, bored expression still perfectly in place.

"Let me go, yeah! This is assault!"

Pein stood and came to join them. For once, he looked like more than just an especially commanding sophomore. Sasori found himself glad that his suddenly icy stare was directed at Deidara, not him.

"You want to leave?"

Deidara managed a nod.

"You're sure?"

Another nod. Deidara didn't seem to be able to look away.

"Can you fight?"

That got a bigger reaction. "Of course, yeah."

"Then you will fight Itachi. If you win, you get to go. When you lose, you stay with us. Does that seem acceptable?"

Deidara looked at Itachi, sizing him up. Sasori knew what he was seeing: a slender boy of average height, with no visible muscles and deep bags under his eyes. He should have been an easy target. Deidara had no way of knowing that he wasn't. "I won't lose," he proclaimed. Itachi's expression didn't change visibly, but Sasori knew he was smiling. Itachi liked nothing better than proving himself better than someone else. Sasori could almost feel sorry for Deidara.

"We'll see about that," Pein said dryly, glancing at Konan.

She shrugged. "I would suggest you do it outside," she said. "I doubt Pein's parents would appreciate you two trashing their basement."

Itachi's eyes flicked towards her, then away. He said nothing, but all could see his disdain. She shrugged. "Suit yourselves, then." She sat back down on Pein's bed, tossing her blue hair out of the way as she did so. The others backed up, giving Itachi and Deidara room. Sasori ended up next to Zetsu, Tobi having been banished to a far corner.

"Any bets on who will win?" Zetsu murmured, watching as Pein explained the terms.

"Itachi."

Zetsu raised his eyebrows. "You think? Have you ever seen Deidara fight?"

"Have you?"

"No," Zetsu admitted. "But he looks like he knows what he's doing."

Sasori snorted. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you imply that Itachi can't handle this."

Zetsu sighed. "I suppose. You think Deidara's really worth it?"

"No. But Pein seems to want him for some unknown reason. It's not up to us to decide."

"I suppose not," Zetsu agreed. They shut up as Pein walked towards his bed, signaling for the fight to begin as he sat down next to Konan.

It was quickly very clear that Deidara was hopelessly outclassed. He was a decent fighter, if overly dependant on his kicks, but he just couldn't compare with Itachi, who had a fourth degree black belt in both karate and taekwondo. Deidara didn't even stand a chance.

Finally, after several minutes of watching the pathetically one-sided excuse for a fight, Sasori grimaced. This was beyond pointless. "Pein, stop them! It's clear that Itachi will win."

Pein glanced at Sasori and shook his head. "Neither of them would thank me for that. Besides, Itachi enjoys himself so little that it would be cruel to deprive him of this opportunity to have fun. Unless… do you want to take Deidara's place?"

Sasori shook his head.

"Well then." Pein turned back towards the fight, though Sasori could see him sneak glances at Konan when he thought she wasn't looking. He also saw her look back, and he knew they'd been kissing after they hung up that afternoon. He hoped they could contain their lustful urges until the others were gone.

"Stop _staring_ at me like that, yeah!" Sasori's attention was drawn back to the fight. Deidara clumsily dodged one of Itachi's fists, then groaned as Itachi's other one rammed straight into his ribs. His reaction time was off, apparently. Not that Sasori blamed him. Greater fighters than Deidara, including both Hidan and Pein, had been thrown off by Itachi's crimson contacts. It was part of the reason the black haired boy wore them.

Still, Deidara managed to leap nimbly onto a nearby chair, digging frantically into his pocket as he did so. He came out with a lump of clay, which he began to sculpt at lightning speed. Sasori watched as his fingers darted deftly through the clay, wondering if the blond had completely lost his mind. Though, come to think of it, that would imply that he'd once had a mind to lose, which wasn't actually a guarantee.

In a surprisingly quick period of time, Deidara held a white clay owl in the palm of his hand. Sasori eyed it critically. It was a good sculpture, he decided, one that would last a good long while if properly fired. Though why Deidara had made it _now_, Sasori had no idea.

Deidara dug into the other pocket with his free hand and produced a match, which he lit swiftly. Sasori's eyes widened as he realized what Deidara had planned. He would indeed fire the thing, but in a completely different manner than Sasori had thought. Was the blond boy completely _insane_?! Sasori scrambled backwards until he hit the wall and turned to face it, crouching down and unconsciously assuming the tornado protection pose in an effort to protect himself from the explosion. **(Author's note: for those of you who don't live in places with tornado drills, the tornado protection pose goes like this: kneel down facing the wall and put both hands over the back of your neck to protect it. It works even better if you're under a table. –Caroline.)**

There was a deafening bang, accompanied by a blinding flash and a wave of scorching heat. Sasori felt himself slowly begin to roast, and, with a burst of intuition, he determined that he was both dead and already in Hell. No judgment to pass, no being turned back at the gates by a seven-foot tall angel clutching giant keys… nothing. Apparently his life had already booked him an express seat on the bus down. He cracked an eye open, wondering what Hell looked like. A lot like Pein's room, apparently. That was odd. He opened the other eye. Yes, amazingly like Pein's room, actually. Maybe he was wrong and he hadn't gotten to Hell yet. He sat up straighter, formulating what he would tell the avenging angel when… if he got there.

From somewhere behind him came the sound of coughing, which made him reevaluate his conclusion again. Surely dead people were immune to smoke. Apparently not. He sat up even straighter, which was a mistake. He breathed in a lungful of the stuff, and began coughing himself. Okay, that did it. He was definitely alive. Not even in Hell would they torture him like this. Of course, he might just die of asphyxiation and get there anyway…

"Get down!" Zetsu said hoarsely, coughing beside Sasori. Blindly, the redhead obeyed, finding relatively smoke-free air this close to the ground. He took a long, blissful breath, relieved that he'd stopped chocking. He might actually make it out of here alive after all.

Finally, the sprinklers came on, the smoke having finally reached the detectors. For several hellish moments, the water did nothing but weigh the smoke down, so that Sasori's clean air supply was once again cut short, but eventually things began to clear. Apparently someone had had the sense and the air to open a window.

It took what seemed to be an eternity for the smoke to clear completely and the sprinklers to shut off. They were all drenched, but no one even seemed to notice. When they could finally see again, Sasori saw Itachi and Deidara in the middle. Deidara lay slumped at Itachi's feet, and Itachi was regarding him with an expression that could have been either triumphant or disgusted or, knowing Itachi, both.

After a long, shocked silence, Konan, stilly lying on the bed, her hair fanned around her head, remarked dryly, "I _knew_ you should have taken it outside."


	6. Why me?

_Author's note: yes, we've been away FOREVER!! we're so very sorry for that, we promise. however, while we might not have a good reason, we have any number of good excuses, the most pertinent of which can be summed up in these two letters: IB. yes, we are in the first year of IB (which should tell you what grade we're in) and it has consumed our lives. we hate that part of it, but we wouldn't drop out for anything. unfortunately, that means cutting back writing time, which is a shame, but we'll figure something out eventually. until then, updates won't be very regular. we're very sorry, but that's how it's going to have to work.  
Disclaimer: too lazy to find out who wrote naruto, which should prove we're not him. one can usually spell one's own name...  
--kyra_

* * *

Why me?

"Why _me_?" Sasori demanded sullenly. He knew he was acting like a small child, but he really didn't care. Honestly, what had Pein been _thinking_? It was bad enough that he'd taken a liking to Deidara and invited him to sit with them, but then he assigned _Sasori_ to the post of babysitter-extraordinaire. It wasn't fair.

"Because you know him, because he knows you, and because you have more classes with him than any of the rest of us."

"That's just an excuse!"

Pein scowled warningly. "I'm not going to argue about this anymore," he said coldly. "This is how it will work."

Sasori growled, but didn't argue any more. He recognized the dangerous tone of Pein's voice: the older boy had reached the end of his patience, and if Sasori continued to object, it would be blows, not words, that would be employed to convince him.

"At least tell me what you expect me to _do_," he grumbled. "I'm not a mind reader, in case you've forgotten."

"Just answer questions," Pein assured him. "He'll probably have many. And I'll thank you to be honest. I don't want him under any false impressions. If I hear you've been deliberately misleading him, I will be… most displeased."

Sasori grimaced. "Don't worry," he growled. "I'll tell the truth."

"Good," Pein answered. "Now, the bell's about to ring. You have history now, right?"

Sasori's scowl of hate-filled disgust was all the answer Pein needed.

"Good. You can start now."

The bell rang just as Pein was finishing, and Sasori stalked away without a backwards glance at the boy whose mission in life this year seemed to be to make his life living hell. Honestly, spending a whole year looking after _Deidara_!? He doubted he would be able to come out of this with his sanity, such as it was, completely intact.

He flopped into his seat moments before the last bell rang. A quick glance around the room showed that he wasn't the last one. Deidara hadn't arrived yet. Good. Maybe he was sick today. That would be the first stroke of luck Sasori had had all year.

It wasn't to be. Deidara ambled in five minutes after class started, looking as though this were a perfectly normal occurrence. Mrs. Cummings paused in her lecture to scowl at him. "Do you have a pass from the office?" she demanded.

Deidara shrugged. "No."

"Why were you late?"

Shrug. "It's too early in the morning. I don't do mornings, yeah."

"So you chose to come late instead?"

"Basically."

She sighed. "I'll let you off this time, but next time you're tardy, it will be a detention. Do you understand?"

Shrug. "Sure."

"Then take a seat and take out your history notebook."

Deidara glanced around the room, looking for a seat. With a sinking feeling, Sasori realized that the only empty seat was the one next to him. He sighed and told himself that there was no way Pein could have engineered this. It wasn't possible. Really, it wasn't.

Deidara sat down and took his notebook out, staring despondently down at the desk as he did so. Mrs. Cummings, after eyeing him suspiciously for a moment, turned back to the rest of the class and got on with her lecture. Sasori wasn't paying attention. He hadn't been paying attention earlier and now, with Deidara sitting right next to him, he couldn't concentrate at all.

"What are you staring at, yeah?" Deidara demanded, glancing up into Sasori's eyes and then away again.

He'd been staring? Shit! "I was _wondering_ whether you were going to make a habit of disrupting class," he invented quickly.

Deidara's visible eyebrow rose up to vanish into his hairline. "Since when do you care about that, yeah?"

Sasori scowled. "If you're going to slack off in class, it's best that the teacher not be paying attention," he hissed. "If something happens, say, someone _comes in late_, then the teacher is once more concentrating on the class and not her lecture, and you have to at least pretend to pay attention. Got it?"

Deidara grinned. "Wow, you really think this out, don't you?"

"I've never gotten caught."

"Neither have I."

Sasori shook his head in wonder. "No, and I will forever wonder how. Maybe Hidan's right and God _does_ exist. Though, if that's the case, why He would choose to help _you_ is beyond me. Presumably He has His own reasons."

Deidara snorted. "I doubt it. And I resent your implying that I can't look after myself, yeah."

"Says the person who blew up Pein's basement," Sasori muttered.

"You guys attacked me, yeah!" Deidara retorted.

"You didn't come peacefully."

"Are you boys paying attention?"

It took Sasori a moment to internalize the fact that Mrs. Cummings, not Deidara, was speaking. He looked up into her irate features. "No."

Like his woodshop teacher, she seemed a bit taken aback by the bluntness of his reply. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "I'm not interested in history. I'm only taking it because I have to."

Her face darkened. "Well you can at least do the rest of the class the courtesy of being silent while they learn the things that will be on their final. _They_ want to pass their classes."

"I didn't say I didn't want to pass, I said I wasn't interested in history."

"Well, if you want to pass the class, you'll have to start paying attention," she snapped.

He shrugged. "Sure."

She eyed him suspiciously, then, with a slightly defeated sigh, turned away once again to address the rest of the class, all of whom were laughing at him under their breath.

"Never gotten caught?" Deidara hissed mockingly.

"Shut up!"

"You're fucking serious?! Damn, that's hilarious!"

"So glad _you're_ entertained," Sasori retorted acidly. He was beginning to regret confiding in Hidan. Not that he'd had much choice. After all, when Hidan demanded to know something, it wasn't really feasible to resist him for long. He might not carry a knife on him, but he certainly had other ways of causing pain, and he wouldn't stop, even after you told him what he wanted to know. Sasori wasn't a wimp, but he wasn't a masochist either. Best just to tell the blond boy and get it over with.

"You were _supposed_ to be watching out for him, not getting yourself into trouble." Oh, great. Pein had heard too. Sasori managed to scowl at him without looking in his direction.

"I didn't do it on _purpose_, you know."

"That doesn't matter. I would have thought you were clever enough to avoid getting caught."

"I'm not having a good day."

"Really?" Konan too? What, were they all spying on him now?

"Really," he answered.

"What's wrong?"

Sasori jerked his head towards Pein. "Why don't you ask _him_? It's his fault!"

Konan turned away and began to grill Pein. Sasori ignored them, hoping that Hidan would take the hint and leave him alone. The bell hadn't rung yet, and he dearly wished he could just stand up and leave. It couldn't only be second hour… could it?

It was. As the bell rang and the teacher set them free to do what they wanted with their time, the enormity of the time he still had left in school today settled onto Sasori's shoulders, and he slumped. God, he wasn't sure he'd make it.

Abruptly, he stood and shoved himself away from the desk, stalking away from the desk and settling himself in the back corner of the large room. He ignored the armchair next to him and scrunched into the corner, pulling his knees up too his chest and resting his head on them for a moment. He had to breathe. Just calm down. It would be okay. He would make it. All he had to do was keep his head and it would all be good. Deidara would fade away, would become just one of the ripples in the pond that was his life, and he would get on with it.

He lifted his head once again, taking out his sketchpad and opening it to a new page. He started at it blankly for a long moment, then made a decision. He stood abruptly, shoving the sketchbook back into his backpack. He wasn't in the mood for sketching. He was in the mood for splatter pain and rock music. One of those was even available. He crossed the room to where the paints were standing, neatly lined up in a row, and found that there was something even better than splatter pain available: spray paint. His face lit up in the first real grin of the day as he took three cans and a canvas back to his corner. Hidan, who'd followed him, took one look at his manic expression and began to inch away.

"Be careful where you fling that shit," he warned. "Remember what happened last time…"

Sasori remembered, but he didn't care. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that he finally had a good way of working off the stress that had been building for the last week. He uncapped one of the cans.

Twenty minutes later, he came back to this world only to discover that he was no longer alone in it. The teacher, Mr. Kashi, stood next to him, examining his masterpiece with a critical eye. When he noticed Sasori watching, he grinned crookedly. "Welcome back."

Sasori nodded without speaking.

"You looked like you needed that."

"You have no idea," Sasori muttered, glancing around the room to where Pein was sitting, carefully cutting out paper figures to glue into his premade background. On the other side of the room, Deidara happily created clay sculpture after clay sculpture, as oblivious to the world as Sasori had been.

Mr. Kashi caught the direction of his gaze, and his eyebrows rose slightly. "Social trouble?"

"You could say that," Sasori conceded. He wished Mr. Kashi would just go away. He'd worked off the worst of the frustration, but he still wasn't in any kind of mood to listen to sympathy from his art teacher.

"What are you going to do with that?" Mr. Kashi nodded at Sasori's picture.

"Take it home." What else was there to do with a piece of art? You brought it home, you framed it, and you kept it forever. That was just how it worked. He still had all the things he'd created back in preschool. They were pretty awful, but they were still there, and would still be there forever. That was the whole point of art, after all.

Mr. Kashi nodded. "If you want. But, I was thinking, if you wouldn't mind, I wouldn't mind it at all if you wanted to leave it here."

Sasori glanced at him. "Why?"

"It occurs to me that it's a very good example of abstract art. I could use it as a model to my Art 1 kids. They need to know what real abstract art is."

Sasori looked at his painting in surprise. Abstract art? Really? Looking at it with a more critical eye, he could see how Mr. Kashi would arrive at that conclusion, but he didn't like it. He shook his head. "It's not abstract, and I don't want other people seeing it."

He looked away, hoping that Mr. Kashi wouldn't ask him why. Thankfully, the teacher seemed to have finally figured out that Sasori didn't want to talk about it. He shrugged. "If you say so." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "The period's almost over. I'll leave you to clean up, shall I?"

"Thank you." Sasori turned away from the teacher, doing his best to forget the man was standing right next to him. He turned back to his paining, wondering how best to go about bringing it home. He realized too late that he'd picked far too big a canvas for his exercise in stress relief. He sighed. Apparently his punishment for letting loose would be to have to take it home.

The bell rang. Sasori scowled and moved back to where he'd left his backpack. Hidan was waiting for him, examining his corner. "You didn't even get it on the fucking walls," he commented. "It can't fucking have been as bad as it looked."

Sasori grimaced. "It was bad enough," he muttered. "Is the day over?"

Hidan snorted. "You wish. Wake up. It's only third fucking period, you know."

Sasori moaned slightly and slumped over his backpack. "Great. I am so _not_ in the mood for math class right now."

Hidan snickered. "Sucks for you, doesn't it?"

Sasori scowled. "Well, what do _you_ have, then?"

"English," Hidan admitted.

"And you think that's better?"

Hidan's face contorted into a wicked grin. "What the hell makes you think I'm going?"

Sasori rolled his eyes. "Should have guessed. What'll you do, go off and terrorize middle schoolers again? You do realize that they'll catch on eventually."

Hidan shrugged. "So? It's not like they can actually _do_ anything to me."

"They can tell your dad."

Hidan scowled. "I'm not afraid of that fucker," he snarled.

Even in his current state, Sasori recognized the danger signals. He shrugged, not in the mood for a confrontation. "Never said you were."

Hidan eyed him for a long moment, then backed away and muttered something derogatory under his breath. Sasori ignored him, concentrating on maneuvering to the door and out into the hallway. It was going to be a _very_ long year.


	7. You call that art!

_Author's note: we want to warn you that we're having computer troubles, and we can't get onto at school. we'll keep writing, but we can't promise that we'll be able to post what we write.__  
Disclaimer: you have been disclaimed.  
p.s: we're not feeling happy at _all_ right now. reviews would make us happier. normally we don't beg (much), but this is a special case. please?_  
_--kyra_

* * *

You call that _art_?!

"… and then the fire went out, which was a drag, but the smoke was still towering over _everything_ and…"

Sasori tuned Deidara out again. The blond had been jabbering on about his "art" for almost ten minutes now, and he showed absolutely no signs of stopping. Sasori had checked in to see if there was any change of topic, but, satisfied that there wasn't, he returned to his own thoughts. Invariably, they too were about art, but this was _real_ art, the kind that stayed around forever, never changing, never deteriorating. His puppets were of that type. He made them to last, and last they did. They wouldn't be art otherwise.

"Danna? Danna, are you listening?"

Sasori grimaced. Danna. How he loathed the name. Deidara had bestowed it on him several days earlier, saying that Sasori was his mentor, and so deserved the title. It had started out as Sempai, but Sasori had gotten rid of that one fast. Danna seemed to stick though, much to the redhead's irritation.

"No. Have you stopped talking nonsense yet?"

"It's not nonsense!" Deidara sounded almost hurt, which amused Sasori. Funny, that he should be so possessive over his puny imitations of true art. "It's art, yeah!"

Sasori snorted. "Art, you say? Just shows how much _you_ know about art."

Deidara scowled. "You know more, yeah?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Sasori resisted the urge to add a triumphant, 'so _there_!'

"So what do _you_ think is art, then, if you're so smart?"

Sasori took a deep breath. This was more like it. Deidara would see. He'd realize that Sasori was right about this. "Art is eternal…"

"What are you talking about?" Deidara interrupted, earning a glower from his redheaded keeper. "Art's temporary! That's the whole _point_ of art, yeah."

Sasori shook his head in disgust, wondering what Deidara had been smoking lately. "Are you crazy? That's the _last_ thing that art could be! What's the point of art if it's just going to go _away_ moments after you finish it?"

Deidara snorted. "You're so wrong, yeah," he stated. "Why would you want to waste art by _keeping_ it? Fleetness is the very thing that _makes_ it art, yeah!"

Sasori shook his head again and crossed his arms. "Stop being stubborn," he insisted. "What do you know about art, anyway?"

This seemed to offend Deidara more than anything Sasori had said yet. "What do _I_ know about art?!" he sputtered. "What do _I_ know…?! I'll have you know that I'm an _artist_, yeah! More of one than _you_ are, I bet!"

Sasori stood so quickly his chair wobbled and fell over behind him. "_What _did you say?" he seethed. "How _dare_ you suggest that I'm not an artist?"

"You did it to me," Deidara snapped back. "You can give it but you can't take it? That's so low!"

"_I_ didn't lie about it," Sasori reminded him. "_I_ was just stating a fact."

"So was I," Deidara countered stubbornly.

"No you weren't! You insulted me!"

"Oh, and you don't think you insulted _me_? Forgive me for thinking that's awfully low!"

"_Low?!_ That was _low?!_ I'll tell you what's low, you Goddam art whore. What's low is _you_ waltzing into my life and insulting me about it!"

"And you didn't walk into my life? Who was it who insisted on talking, hmm?"

"You."

"When?"

"First day of school."

"And after that."

Sasori scowled. "Conversations under duress don't count."

"Sure they don't. You're just embarrassed to be the one who wanted to talk to me!"

"I _didn't_ want to talk to you," Sasori roared. He suddenly remembered that they were still in school, and glanced around. The rest of the cafeteria was looking at the two of them eagerly, probably anticipating a fight. Only the members of his own table were looking away, and even they were listening. Sasori shot the entire room a glare. It didn't get much reaction. He scowled and gathered up his things, not caring that he dumped some fries onto the floor as he stormed out of the room. He hoped Deidara stepped on them.

Once outside, he started running. Who cared about chemistry? He didn't like that class anyway. It wasn't like he'd be missed, and, anyway, he had to get away from the school.

He didn't stop running until he was far enough away that he could barely see the school anymore. He crossed the street to a conveniently located green space and dumped his things onto the ground. He sank down, wondering what was wrong with him. He wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be in _control_ of his emotions. Blowing up was for other people, not for him. Losing control was… well, for people like _Deidara_! Sasori was definitely _not_ _**anything**_ like Deidara. He _wasn't_!

He grimaced, forcing any and all thoughts of Deidara out of his mind. It was all Deidara's fault. Everything that went wrong in Sasori's life was Deidara's fault. Even things that had nothing to _do_ with Deidara were Deidara's fault.

No, don't think of Deidara. Think of… think of art. No, art leads back to Deidara. Sasori scowled. How _dare_ Deidara corrupt the one thing he loved?! Deidara had no right to invade the privacy of his mind like that, _none_! Sasori's hands clenched. Deidara was going to pay for this. He yanked a spiral notebook out of his backpack and began to plan.

"Um, what are you doing?" Sasori looked up from his fiendishly complicated diagrams into Zetsu's concerned features. Looking around, he realized that he'd probably been out here for a couple hours. He wondered if his grandmother would even have noticed his absence.

"I'm plotting," Sasori replied, flipping his notebook closed before Zetsu could think to look.

Zestu raised an eyebrow. "Plotting?"

"Indeed."

There was a brief silence while Zetsu conferred with himself, then, "Dare we ask what you're plotting, exactly?"

Sasori considered. On the one hand, he felt no desire to share his plans with _anyone_. On the other, well, Zetsu _was_ his best friend, and there really was no chance at all that Zetsu would turn traitor. Besides, the voice in Zetsu's head would probably take control if Sasori refused, and Sasori didn't like Aki at all. The voice was just annoying. He shrugged. "I suppose."

Zetsu sat down next to him, dropping his own backpack onto the ground next to him. Sasori shifted slightly, allowing Zetsu to see his notebook. The pale boy looked at it blankly for a few moments, then shook his head. "You'll have to explain it to us. We don't understand a word of it."

"Cut that out!"

Zetsu frowned. "Cut what out?"

"Talking in the plural. It's going to drive me insane!"

Zetsu's frown deepened momentarily, then he grimaced. His face smoothed out as he communed with his voice. Sasori watched, wondering, not for the first time, just what was going inside there.

Finally, Zetsu's face regained some semblance of an expression. "Sorry. He'll behave."

"You sure?"

Zetsu nodded. "Positive."

Sasori raised his eyebrows. "What did you tell him."

Zetsu's face lit up in a wicked grin. He closed his eyes, reciting, "This is the house that Jack built. This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built. This is the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cat that killed the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built. This is the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat that at the malt that lay in the house that Jack built." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "Shall I continue?"

Sasori shook his head. "Don't bother. Do I want to know why you know that?"

Zetsu shrugged. "I found out ages ago that Aki hates it. It's the best way to shut him up."

Sasori shook his head again, this time in resignation. "Whatever works for you, I suppose…"

"So," Zetsu asked, leaning forward to see Sasori's plans. "What exactly are all these lines supposed to mean?"

"Are you _still_ mad at me, yeah?"

Sasori turned to face Deidara. "What do you think?" he demanded, scowling.

"I think you're taking this too seriously, yeah," the blond replied. He shifted his weight slightly, transferring his single textbook from the crook of his right arm to that of his left, allowing him to prop his free hand on his hip.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sasori demanded. 'No, don't think about his figure,' he ordered himself silently, shifting his eyes back up to Deidara's face. How they'd wandered down to the blond's hips, Sasori would never know, but it would certainly not happen again. This was _Deidara_. This was the creature from Hell whose goal in life was making Sasori miserable. This was _not_ a suitable object to think about in such a way. Hell, it wasn't even like Sasori _liked_ the brat!

"It _means_," Deidara answered, dragging Sasori out of his thoughts, "that you can't hold grudges forever. Look at me. I was pretty pissed yesterday, I admit, but I'm fine today."

Sasori shrugged. "I'm not you." 'Thank _God_ for that,' he added to himself.

"Obviously not, yeah."

Sasori scowled and adjusted the weight of his own books, holding them to his chest like Erin held her notebook.

"Maybe you should try it someday," Deidara continued.

"Try what?"

Deidara rolled his eyes. "Try being more like me, of course. What did you _think_ I meant, yeah?"

"I'm sure I don't know. You seem to have forgotten the use of this thing called a 'noun.' I assume you've heard of it?" He deliberately made it into a question.

Deidara scowled. "I've heard of it, yeah. Why?"

"Because you seem to have forgotten to use them. Begin again, this time inserting a noun in the place of the pronoun 'it'."

Deidara rolled his eyes. "I thought you didn't like English class, yeah."

"I don't. But being friends with Itachi all these years apparently rubbed off on me."

"Can we get back to the subject of the conversation, please?"

Sasori shrugged. "Go ahead. You had something to tell me?"

"I _said_, you should try being more like me."

"To be brutally frank, I'd rather die than be like you."

Deidara grimaced. "Ever heard of tact, Danna?"

"No. Will you leave me alone yet?"

Deidara shrugged. "Probably not." He nodded at the clock on the wall across from them. "Lunch started five minutes ago, yeah."

Sasori sighed. "And I suppose you're coming with me?"

Deidara grinned. "Yup!"

"Great. Come on then. I don't want to spend my _entire_ lunch hour arguing with you."

Deidara shook his head sadly as he followed Sasori. The redhead ignored him, concentrating on elbowing his way through the still packed hallways. In the weeks he'd been back in school, he'd learned that the only way to get anywhere was to shove. He'd seen what happened to those who didn't: they were forever being shoved off to one side, and they never got anywhere. They were the people who let the world walk all over them. Sasori preferred to walk all over the world, or at least at a safe distance away from it.

They were, of course, the last to arrive. Deidara vanished into the lunch line, much to Sasori's relief, and the redhead made his way towards his seat. Konan looked up as he entered.

"Are you going to blow up again today?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him as he sat down.

Sasori grimaced. "I wasn't planning on it, no."

"Were you planning on it yesterday?"

He scowled and didn't deign to answer.

"Is he even _here_ today?" Kisame wanted to know.

Sasori scowled. "Yes," he muttered.

Zetsu looked at Sasori questioningly. Sasori shook his head. He hadn't put his plan into action yet. There was still time. Deidara would never know what hit him.

Konan caught the silent exchange between the two and raised her eyebrow again. "Yes?"

Sasori scowled back. "None of your business," he snapped, sitting down. He reached down and pulled his sketchpad out of his backpack, signifying an end to the conversation. Konan shrugged, turning back to her latest argument with Pein, leaving Sasori to try and sketch his frustration away. He wished he had some spray paint.

"What are you drawing, Danna?"

Sasori's head snapped up and he growled at Deidara. "Go away."

Deidara, ignoring this, sat down next to Sasori. Sasori tried to ignore him, but the blond wasn't making it easy. He kept leaning forward to see more closely, his hair occasionally brushing Sasori's shoulder. And, if that wasn't distracting enough, he started reaching for it, as though he were going to _touch_ it. Sasori yanked the sketchpad out of danger. "What do you think you're doing?"

"It's _art_, yeah," Deidara reminded him. "It's meant to be touched."

Sasori stared at him in horror. "Are you out of your _mind_?" he hissed. "That's the _last_ thing art's meant to be!"

Across the table, Konan began to grin. Sasori ignored her.

Deidara shook his head. "You've got it all wrong," he told Sasori. "You're suffocating it, protecting it like you do. Art's meant to be set free into the world!"

Sasori's scowl deepened. "You clearly don't know anything," he snapped through clenched teeth. "You can taint your art by showing it to people, if you want, but don't you _dare_ do the same with mine!"

Konan's eyes danced as she turned towards them. "I thought you weren't going to make a scene today," she reminded Sasori. "Not that I would mind, mind you. It's far more entertaining when you two start shouting at each other."

Sasori scowled at her. "So glad that we can distract you from your dreary life," he growled. "Sorry to disappoint you, but we're _not_ going to make a scene."

Konan raised her eyebrows again. "Really? It certainly looks like it."

"I don't _care_ what it looks like," Sasori spat. "We're _not_!"

Konan shrugged. "Have it your way. But, if you want my advice…"

"I don't," Sasori interrupted.

"I know that. But I'll tell you anyway: stop looking like you want to kill someone. That's Itachi's job, and it contradicts your saying you won't make a scene."

Sasori glowered at her, his jaw aching from the strength with which he clenched his teeth. "Konan," he hissed. "You can just turn away and _leave us alone_! Your presence is _not_ helping this."

Konan shrugged. "I knew that."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because I'm interested." She leaned back slightly. "But please, don't distract yourselves on my account. Go on. Pretend I'm not here."

Deidara snorted. "That'll be the day, yeah."

Sasori started to nod, then realized that that would mean _agreeing_ with Deidara. That would never do! So he contented himself with glowering at Konan one last time before he turned his attention back to Deidara.

"I'm not destroying your art," Deidara informed him, picking up right where they'd left off.

"Of course you are," Sasori snapped. "You can't help it. It's in your nature to destroy everything in your path." 'Including me,' he thought, then shoved the thought away.

"What's that supposed to mean, yeah?"

"It _means_ that you can't control yourself enough to keep anything intact. Surely you've noticed."

Deidara shrugged. "I like fire," he said simply.

"I had noticed," Sasori told him dryly. "And you like blowing things up as well."

"Like I said, I like fire."

Sasori waved this away, glancing at Zetsu. The black-haired boy titled his head minutely in question, and Sasori nodded slightly. Now was the time. Now he would put his master plan into action.


	8. Stage one

_Author's note: we're back! yay! -grins- we're going to concentrate on this story now, mostly because _thesepeopleareus_ won't leave me alone. -growls- this is what happens when you let people you know in real life read your stories. -rolls eyes-  
Disclaimer: all recognizable characters belong to kisimoto. all dry psychology passages belong to wikipedia. (yes, i copied them word for word. i'm so bad... feel free to skim over them. you won't hurt my feelings, i promise.)_  
_--kyra

* * *

_

Stage one

Sasori glanced around the crowded lobby before the first bell rang. He wanted to find the others and warn them ahead of time, just in case. He didn't _think_ Pein would intervene – the orange-haired boy seemed about as exasperated as everyone else with his and Deidara's constant bickering – but you never knew. Pein could be devious sometimes, and there were times when he did things that absolutely no one could understand. Sasori still hadn't forgotten the amusement park incident, among other things.

Unfortunately, none of them were anywhere in sight. Not even Kisame was there, and he was usually inordinately easy to spot, mostly due to the fact that he was freakishly tall. The fact that he _wasn't_ in the lobby was worrying – it meant that he was not the only one with a fiendish plan, and when fiendish plans involved Kisame, people were likely to get hurt. He debated whether or not to feel sorry for Kisame's victim, whoever it was, then discarded the idea. They probably deserved it.

He glanced at his watch. Three minutes until school officially started. With a sigh, he began to make his way towards the woodshop room, wondering if his teacher would allow him just to zone out in a corner all period. He had the oddest feeling that the answer would be no.

Sure enough, not only did the teacher forbid him from zoning out, but he actually made Sasori pay attention in class, instead of working on his own as he had been doing. Granted, Sasori had finished the puppets of his parents – and had indeed decided to paint their toenails purple, just for the heck of it – and so he had nothing to do, but it was the principle of the thing.

But they had some kind of guest speaker, and it would apparently be considered disrespectful for Sasori to blatantly ignore him. Sasori was tempted to ask if this meant that he was allowed to subtly ignore him, but then realized that, if he didn't ask, the teacher wouldn't be able to say no, so he would not technically be breaking the rules. Amazing how six-year-old logic still worked all these years later.

The speaker might have been interesting. He might even have been utterly and completely fascinating. Sasori could not have said. He spent the entire period rehearsing what he was going to say when he saw Deidara at lunch. True, they did have English together, but it would somehow be more satisfying to begin stage on in full view of everyone. Besides, Zetsu had said that he wanted to watch, and who was Sasori to deny him that small pleasure? So he plotted and ignored the speaker, and left the class dutifully when the bell rang, still planning.

Unfortunately, next he had psychology, and that class was far too much fun to waste it plotting. Sasori too had his small pleasures in life, and watching the constant feuding between Erin and Itachi was one of them.

* * *

"Phineas Gage was born in 1923. As a young man, he took a job working for a railroad company. During the course of his work, a tamping rod was blasted through his brain, causing irreparable damage to his frontal lobes. Though he survived the accident, the damage to his frontal lobes destroyed the emotion centers in his brain, turning him into an unfeeling drone for the remainder of his life."

Sasori listened with half an ear as the psychology teacher explained the tragic tale of Phineas Gage. He really could care less about a mentally destroyed railroad worker; he was far more interested in the two people in front of him.

"Hey, Itachi!" Erin's whisper was masterfully done: just quiet enough that the teacher would not hear it, caught up as she was in her lecture, and just loud enough to ensure that Itachi could not ignore her.

He tried valiantly to pretend he had gone temporarily and unaccountably deaf in his left ear, but finally he turned to stare blankly at her. He did not speak, but she did not need him to.

"Does he remind you of anyone?"

Itachi answered this with a blink which somehow managed to convey the utmost contempt for her words.

"Erin!"

The girl looked up at the teacher. "Mm?"

"Would you like to fill us in on the purpose of the frontal lobes?"

Erin shrugged and glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly before looking back down at the ever present notebook. Sasori wondered idly whether Erin was actually in trouble, or whether the teacher just knew that she would know the answer. Judging from her indulgent smile, he decided that it was the second.

Erin closed her eyes, shifted into 'textbook mode,' and answered, "The executive functions of the frontal lobes involve the ability to recognize future consequences resulting from current actions, to choose between good and bad actions (or better and best), override and suppress unacceptable social responses, and determine similarities and differences between things or events.

"The frontal lobes also play an important part in retaining longer term memories which are not task-based. These are often memories associated with emotions derived from input from the brain's limbic system. The frontal lobe modifies those emotions to generally fit socially acceptable norms." She glanced momentarily at Itachi, then added, "So, in essence, those with damaged frontal lobes are unable to function normally in polite society because their reward functions have been damaged, and so they cannot see the consequences of their actions. This leads them to blatantly disregard the feelings of others, doing what they like, instead of what their missing frontal lobes tell them they should."

The teacher raised her eyebrows slightly, perhaps sensing the insult, but unable to actually pinpoint it. Instead, she turned toward Itachi, who had definitely noticed, and was smoldering at Erin, who, of course, was looking down at her notebook and so did not notice.

"Very good. Itachi, can you elaborate on the procedure known as a frontal lobotomy?"

"'Lobotomy' means cutting a lobe of the brain. It is synonymous with _leucotomy_ (from the Greek 'leukos', 'white' and 'tome', 'cut') — that is, cutting tracts of nerve fibres (_white matter_) that connect different regions of the brain. Lobotomy of the frontal lobe is an operative procedure used to alleviate symptoms of mental illness. Currently, it is used more commonly in North America than elsewhere."

Erin glanced at him and raised her eyebrows, as though to say, 'is that all?' The teacher sighed, then nodded at her. "Do you have anything to add, Erin?"

Erin took a deep breath and smiled smugly. "Well, on November 12th, 1935, a Portuguese neurosurgeon by the name of Almeida Lima performed the first human lobotomy, using alcohol injections to destroy the brain tissue. This procedure had been proposed by his Nobel Prize-winning colleague Egas Moniz as a result of hearing a lecture by the American neurologist John Fulton earlier that year. Fulton had described a chimpanzee that became much calmer after surgery destroying the connections between the frontal lobe and areas below the cerebral hemispheres, which are concerned with the emotions. Lima operated on a total of 20 patients, all of whom survived. Seven were considered to have made a complete recovery and an equal number were described as having markedly improved.

"Encouraged by these findings, Walter Freeman and James Watts modified Moniz's technique and introduced 'frontal lobotomy' into the US. This operation, also called _prefrontal leucotomy_ or _standard lobotomy_, was performed widely, and soon its detrimental as well as its beneficial effects became apparent." She paused to take a breath and to glance at the teacher, just to make sure that she was, in fact, allowed to continue.

"Like other brain operations, frontal lobotomy was associated with risks of infection, bleeding, and an increased likelihood of developing seizures. In addition, it also became evident that it altered the behavior and personality of patients, and this gradually limited its use, which further declined in the 1960s because of the development of pharmacological means of treating mental illness. Nevertheless, the use of neurosurgery for treating mental disorders has continued to the present day and is still available in several centers worldwide.

"Earlier operations underwent many modifications, as neurosurgeons sought to reduce their damaging and irreversible side-effects. 'Open' procedures gave way to 'closed' ones, in which the neurosurgeons operated through small holes in the skull, and free-hand operations were replaced by stereotactic procedures, which allowed the neurosurgeon to site lesions with great precision. These changes and developments resulted in the neurosurgical procedures that are currently in use today. The four procedures available worldwide aim to interrupt key connections between specific parts of the frontal lobe and other areas of the brain. Lesion sites vary, and the surgeon's blade is no longer used; instead lesions are created using controlled radiation, or burning or freezing of tissue.

"As more operations were performed, it gradually became apparent that the patients that benefited most had primarily mood and anxiety disorders as opposed to schizophrenia. Hence, the aim of current procedures is to destroy those areas of the brain thought to be important in the regulation of emotion and anxiety.

"Psychosurgery, the treatment of mental illness by neurosurgical procedures, has been criticized because it has developed empirically more than on rational grounds, and because of a lack of 'scientific' evidence supporting its purported therapeutic efficacy. However, the operations are offered only to those patients with severe intractable illnesses who have unsuccessfully tried all reasonable alternatives. In order to evaluate the effectiveness of these procedures accurately, a closely-matched, comparative group of patients would need to be studied, and this would be extremely difficult. Furthermore, it is not ethical to deny patients an operation altogether or to withhold information concerning treatment options for the purposes of research, and this also limits the feasibility of conducting a 'clinical trial'." She paused again, composing her thoughts. Sasori guessed that she was skipping ahead in her mental recitation of the textbook, and he couldn't help being grateful.

"For many people the term 'lobotomy' conjures up images of disturbed beings whose brains have been damaged or mutilated extensively, leaving them at best in a vegetative state without a personality or feelings. This was never true, even in the case of prefrontal leucotomy, and is certainly not the case for the modern stereotactic procedures. Indeed, even in the classical case of Phineas Gage, who in 1847 through an industrial accident suffered severe damage to his prefrontal brain, there was no evidence of impairment of intellect or memory." This was accompanied by a meaningful glance at Itachi, which he ignored.

"The term _psychosurgery_ has had years of bad press and is now wrongly associated with only the adverse effects and negative outcomes. It has been suggested that such terms should no longer be used to describe the sophisticated procedures in use today and that, in the new millennium, a simple descriptive term, 'neurosurgery for mental disorders' (NMD), be adopted, in the hope that the prejudices associated with this treatment can be forgotten. It is only then that NMD will be thoroughly evaluated and its place in the management of mental illness ascribed." Her pencil began to move again, sure sign that she was finished.

Sasori risked a glance at Itachi, trying to gage how he was taking this further demonstration of her knowledge. To Sasori's surprise, the black haired boy looked thoughtful, rather than incensed. Sasori frowned; Itachi looking thoughtful was just as bad as Kisame plotting. He resolved to keep a close eye on the pair of them. There was no telling what they might be up to, what with Itachi's ruthless need for revenge and Kisame's blind obedience.

The teacher, perhaps feeling that they had spent enough of her class time sparring, turned to other students, asking them questions that they answered more or less accurately. She did not call on Sasori, thankfully. No one ever called on Sasori; he actively discouraged it, and most teachers respected his wishes. At least, they did so after the first few times.

The bell rang eventually, and Itachi left at a brisk walk, possibly to go find Kisame and put his plan into action. Sasori followed at a more leisurely pace, going over the finer details of his own plan. It occurred to him that it might not be all together normal for there to be so much intrigue and plotting happening within a high school social group, but he instantly dismissed the thought. Anyone who knew anything about high school girls could tell you that there was more intrigue there than between enemy countries. Not that Sasori _did_ know anything about high school girls, mind you, but he could guess, judging from what he knew of Konan and high school in general.

Zetsu materialized by his side as he walked to the cafeteria. "Are you going to do it?" he asked eagerly.

Sasori nodded. "I am indeed," he agreed. Wondering if Zetsu knew anything about the others, he added, "Which reminds me, what's Itachi up to?"

Zetsu shrugged. "Who knows? He doesn't confide in me, you know."

"Itachi doesn't confide in anyone," Sasori said dismissively. "But you're quiet; people tend to forget you're in the room. Kisame hasn't let anything slip, has he?"

Zetsu shook his head. "Not that I can think of, no," he said. "Why?"

"Because I think they're planning something even more fiendish than I am, and I like Erin better than I like Deidara."

Zetsu's eyes widened. "They're plotting against Erin?"

Sasori raised his eyebrows. "This is _Itachi_ we're talking about," he reminded his friend. "Who else would he be plotting against?"

"Good point," Zetsu muttered. "I'll keep my ears open."

"Good." They crossed into the cafeteria and sat at their usual table. Kisame was there, as was Itachi. They did not speak to each other, but that was only to be expected: Itachi did not speak at all if he could help it, and even Kisame could see that he was in a bad mood. Kisame would not like to press his luck by trying to engage his friend in conversation.

Deidara arrived last, as usual, and sat down across from Sasori. "Hi Danna!" he said brightly. "Are we going to fight again today? 'Cause I want to eat first, yeah." He made a face. "I haven't managed to eat all my lunch in _days_!"

Sasori took a deep breath. This was it. This was where he put his plan into action. He looked slyly at Deidara, swallowing his distaste as he regarded the blond idiot. "You know what? This is stupid."

Deidara frowned, clearly suspecting a trick. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

Sasori shrugged. "This. The two of us constantly fighting about art. I mean, everyone has a right to their own opinions, right?"

Now everyone at the table – barring Zetsu, who knew the details of Sasori's plan – was staring open mouthed at the redheaded artist. At last, Konan broke the slightly stunned silence. "Um, Sasori? You _are_ Sasori, aren't you? You haven't been taken over by pod people when we've had our backs turned?"

Sasori shook his head. Konan ignored him.

"If he _had_ been taken over by pod people, you would expect them to deny it," she murmured. She glanced around the table, and her sharp eyes fell on the nearest victim: Kisame. "Hey Kisame, do you think Sasori's acting… weird?"

Kisame blinked and looked up from his tray of goop at last. "What?" he asked, his mouth still full.

Konan, much like Sasori had done, in fact, repressed her distaste and pressed on gamely. "Sasori just offered to compromise with Deidara. You don't find that odd?"

Kisame shrugged. "I don't get any of you," he pointed out. "So there's no point in me trying to figure anyone out."

Konan's eyebrows rose. "If you don't understand anything, then why are you here?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious despite the fact that Sasori knew she was well aware of the answer. Being Pein's girlfriend has its benefits, after all.

Kisame grimaced. "I'm tall and I have a knife," he said. He glanced at Pein, who was looking decidedly bored. "Anything else?"

Pein shook his head. "Actually, that's about it, I'm afraid," he said, his voice positively oozing false sympathy. "Will you need counseling to help you get over the disappointment?"

Kisame shook his head, oblivious, as always, to Pein's sarcasm. "Naw, I'm good." He turned back to his food, leaving Konan to shake her head in disgust.

"Boys," she muttered murderously. The rest of the people at the table, all of them boys, glanced at each other.

Finally, Sasori muttered, "You know Konan, it might not be the best idea in the world to antagonize a group of rather heavily armed and notoriously unstable juvenile delinquents, all of whom, apart from yourself, of course, just happen to be male."

Konan tossed her head in disdain. "I'm not afraid of any of you," she informed the group as a whole. "There isn't one among you who could take me on and win."

Pein's lips tightened as he clenched his jaw. "Would you care to put that to the test?" he asked, every word forced though what appeared to be rapidly numbing lips.

Konan shrugged. "If I must," she said airily. "But you won't win. Why don't you just give up now? It would be so hard on your egos if you were beaten by a _girl_, don't you think?" She flashed them a completely insincere grin, then stood. "You know where to find me if you don't change your minds."

They watched as she left the cafeteria, all of them staring slightly. Finally, Zetsu shook his head. "She's good," he murmured. "I wonder if any of us really appreciate how good she is."

Pein winced. "No comment?" he offered.

Sasori snorted. "Right, yeah," he muttered darkly. "She might be good, but she's also a pain in the ass."

Zetsu shook his head in amusement. "You don't have any sense of self-preservation, do you?"

Sasori frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"You really don't think she'll know everything we say here?"

Sasori shrugged. "So? I don't care." He turned back to his empty tray, then picked up his coke and drank. "So, Deidara. What do you think of my idea, anyway?"

Deidara frowned suspiciously at him. "What was it again?" he asked.

Sasori sighed. "You and I stop fighting about art. We stop talking to each other unless we're forced to, and everyone goes about their lives like nothing ever happened."

Now everyone was staring at Sasori. "Um, have you gone mental?" Kisame wanted to know.

"Yes, but that was a long time ago," Sasori told him, deadpan. Deidara snorted, then sobered, still frowning.

"What happened to make you change your mind, yeah?"

Sasori shrugged. "I got sick of being miserable, and, since you're not about to do anything, I have to."

Deidara's frown deepened. He stared at Sasori, as though he were trying to figure out just what the redhead was playing at. Sasori looked back, confident that Deidara would never be able to figure it all out. Sure enough, Deidara eventually sighed. "Fine. Truce."

Sasori smiled smugly. Stage one had been successfully completed.

9


End file.
